


Afterlife

by kandekaze



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Personal Growth, Philosophy, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 111,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandekaze/pseuds/kandekaze
Summary: “I’ve been trying to figure out who you are,” Edward admitted quietly, after watching her concentrate on a math problem.She put her pencil down on the table. Every thought that Becca had, every feeling she’d felt so far today, had been crossed with her despairing mindset. She didn’t have a purpose outside of helping people. If she didn’t have a purpose, why was she alive? What was she doing, here in Forks or otherwise?“Well,” Becca said, glancing up at him. She smiled wryly. “If you figure it out, please tell me. I’d like to know, too.”In which 24-year-old social worker Becca Fitzgerald makes a life-altering decision and wakes up as 17-year-old Bella Swan.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Edward Cullen/Original Character(s), Edward Cullen/Original Female Character(s), Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale
Comments: 385
Kudos: 746
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Reincarnation and Transmigration





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Spent most of the past crazy year feeding my decade gone Twilight obsession. This is the product of that. :) 
> 
> I endeavor to stick as close to canon as possible, but please let me know what you think. One of my goals this year is to get better at finishing stories I start, so any interactions you have with this will help!

When Becca opened her eyes, her stomach lurched, and she knew that she was going to throw up. She was on autopilot as she opened her door and dove into the small bathroom. Becca didn’t even bother to turn on the light. She was too dazed. Nothing felt real. Was she dreaming? 

But the tile was rough against her knees and she had the most awful sensation that she was motion sick. But that couldn’t be, could it? She hadn’t been in a car in days. Her corolla was still covered with snow and she hadn’t bothered to uncover it. It was kept parked on the lawn, a little off the road, so no one was bothered by it. No one traveled anywhere, these days, what with the pandemic and the lack of care of most people around her. Why then did she feel like she’d been around the bend with the worst driver ever? Worse than her grandma, worse than her sister Lizzie, worse than Mikey, her old high school boyfriend, who turned the radio down just to turn corners? 

“Bells?” There was a knock on the bathroom door. A man’s voice she didn’t recognize. And yet for some reason, she wasn’t bothered by it “You okay?” 

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then stood and flipped the switch. The lighting was duller than that of her own bathroom. She was certain she had never been here before. The room was small, a shower in the corner covered with a blue curtain, a small sink covered in masculine toiletries. Teak aftershave, Old Spice deodorant, Irish Spring bar soap. She blinked and furrowed her brows. 

“Bella?” The man asked again. 

“Uh, yeah,” she croaked. She winced at how sore her throat was, then coughed to clear it. “I’ll be out in just a second.” 

“You sure? No need to force yourself to go to school today, if you need some time. I know you’re probably still tired from yesterday.” 

School? She was a social worker. She hadn’t been to school in over two years now. 

“No, no, I’m okay,” she called back. “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

The man was silent for several moments. Then, he sighed. “Alright then. I’ll be downstairs.” 

Becca nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her. A few moments later and she heard steps going away from her. She leaned against the counter to brace herself. Then, she took a long look in the mirror. 

She blinked several times. 

There was no way this was happening. 

Her hair was shades lighter, mostly straight, even though she’d just woken up and it normally took her an hour to make her hair look as it did now. These eyelashes were long and full. Her skin was pale, smooth, and clear. Not a single pimple or an acne scar. Cool undertones. These eyes were brown but lighter than her own. 

And she was skinny. Rebecca Fitzgerald had never been skinny. Even as a baby, she’d been in the heaviest percentiles. 

Becca frowned down at herself. She was wearing raggedy sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that read Phoenix across the chest. And her boobs were nonexistent. Becca clutched at her abdomen. Normally, she wore a 36C. What the hell was this? 

Her heart was racing. When she looked down, even her fingernails were long and pretty—no torn cuticles, no jagged nails from where she bit them off in fits of anxiety or out of habit. And these fingers were beautiful. Not stubby and short like her own. They were elegant, nearly regal looking. 

But she also knew, looking at herself in the mirror, that she was younger than she was supposed to be. 

Becca was twenty-four, would be twenty-five in March. This body was in its late teens. She looked a lot like one of the kids that Becca worked with. Delilah was her name. It was a struggle every time she talked to the girl because that kid was fifteen and nobody wanted to foster fifteen-year-olds. As a consequence, Delilah had developed a complex as she bounced around from house to house, which caused her to be forced to move to other houses. Delilah was quick-witted and funny, and if Becca wasn’t so overworked and Delilah wasn’t out of houses to move to, Delilah would probably be her favorite. 

Wasn’t it Monday? Wouldn’t she see Delilah today? 

Becca could hear the man walking again, then his footsteps descended. A staircase. Becca’s house was one story. 

Becca shook her head. She took a few deep breaths. Tried to root herself. Bare feet feeling cool against floor tiles. Room smells of soap. Nausea was gone. And now she was surprisingly a lot calmer than she thought she would be. 

She took another deep breath, then flipped the light switch off again. The door creaked as she opened it and she paused outside it momentarily. Did this house leave the door open or closed? She shrugged and left it open. Luckily, there were only two more doors upstairs. One at the end of the hall, which was closed, and the one she’d come from. Downstairs, she could hear the man shuffling around. This house wasn’t well insulated. 

Becca closed the door behind her. The room wasn’t dirty, just cluttered. It didn’t look altogether too different from hers back home. The bed she’d woken up in was full-sized and unmade, near the window. A desk in the corner. A bookshelf full, mostly of classics, but a few she had never heard of before. The curtains were sheer. Becca glanced at the computer on the desk and frowned. It looked like something straight out of the Smithsonian. A large, clunky desktop. Even the computers back in elementary school had been smaller. 

She scanned the room for a purse. There was nothing on the dresser but a bag of toiletries and a few CDs. She spotted a backpack in the desk chair and rifled through it, finding a wallet in the front pocket. Inside was an Arizona state driver’s license. Becca caught sight of the name but pulled it out of the protective covering anyway. 

There was no way. No fucking way. 

Isabella Marie Swan. 

“What the hell?” she muttered aloud to herself, staring down at the license in her hand. The picture was identical to the face she’d just seen in the mirror. She took a seat on the bed and frowned. 

Suddenly her stomach felt very heavy. Her eyes were prickling. But Becca wasn’t necessarily sad; she was more confused than anything. Why did the name sound so familiar? She glanced around the room for a cellphone, a clock, anything to tell her what year it was. But all Isabella Marie Swan had in her room was the damn colossal computer. 

“Bella?” the man yelled up the stairs. Becca had left the door open. “Are you going or not?” 

“One more minute,” Becca called back, surprised by the steadiness of her voice. 

“You’re going to be late,” he yelled. 

Becca threw the wallet back into the backpack and began to hurry, rifling through the drawers of the dresser, in a rush to find something presentable. She found a pair of dark wash jeans but wrinkled her nose at how low cut they were. 

Right, she reminded herself, this is not your body. 

Becca stripped down to her underwear, put on a white bra so tiny she hadn’t seen one that size since she was twelve, and a long sleeve green shirt over it. There were shoes lined up by the door, and Becca frowned at the fact that Isabella Swan wore her boots inside. She grabbed her backpack, and the boots, and rushed down the stairs, stopping only when she was right dead and center in the kitchen. 

This house was tiny. The kitchen took up most of the downstairs. There was a small living room that she could see through the doorway. A small laundry room was on the other side. 

The man, who she now saw had dark, curly hair and brown eyes, nodded his head at her. He had on his coat, a police belt around his hips. He was already halfway to the door. “You sure you want to drive yourself today, Bells?” 

Becca nodded because it seemed like the right thing to do. He muttered for her to have a good day and then left, closing the door behind him. She heard his car engine start-up and then she sat down at the small table in the kitchen. There was a microwave with the time, thankfully, and it read 7:43. Becca didn’t know what time was considered late at this school, but at least at her own, she’d had to be in class by 8:15. 

The house was completely silent once the man’s car left. Becca was amazed by how calm she felt. She didn’t know who she even was and she was sitting here in this mismatched kitchen chair, just breathing. Perhaps it was something about her new body—the old one would be so full of anxiety that she wouldn’t be able to sit still, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She stood, rifling through the cabinets. They were mostly bare of food; a couple of pasta jars, a few boxes of pasta, a box of cereal. She closed the cabinet and sat back at the table. 

Where was she? Perhaps the better question was when was she?

* * *

It was much colder than the New Jersey winter she was used to. The air felt different, too. But it wasn’t until she heaved open the door to the ugly old truck that she guessed belonged to Isabella Swan and cursed aloud. 

It was a manual transmission. 

Rebecca Fitzgerald had no damn clue how to drive a manual transmission. 

In habit, she felt her back pockets for her phone to look it up, but there was nothing there. Sighing, mostly from the cold, she heaved her backpack into the seat and closed the door behind her. It was very clean but smelt faintly of tobacco. There was nothing inside that would indicate anything else about Isabella Swan. 

Becca had gotten her first cellphone in 2010. Judging by Isabella Swan’s license, this mean that she was somewhere in the mid-2000s. Real Becca had been a child in the mid-2000s, so she didn’t actually remember much about it, other than gauchos and Polly pockets. There was certainly no Uber, no Lyft, no Twitter. Was there even Google? 

She sat shivering in the cab of the truck for a few more minutes, then kicked the dashboard. There was no way she would figure this out in time for whatever school she had to be at. She looked out the window—this house was in a neighborhood, if it could be called that. The houses were near enough for it, but it was much different than any she knew of back home in Jersey. The houses and road were both silent but if she listened carefully, she could hear cars off the main road. 

Frowning, she took her backpack again, told herself it would be alright, and got out of the truck. Her boots were noisy against the gravel. Becca pulled the hood up over her head and began to walk towards the sounds of the highway. She was going to be late for school, but if she didn’t even know what the school was, did it really even matter?

* * *

She saw the school from a distance after what felt like an hour later, though she had no real clue, seeing as this Isabella Swan didn’t own a watch. The walk hadn’t been too bad, though. Becca had discovered once she found the highway that her body knew where to go, even if her mind didn’t. A few cars slowed down as she walked, probably to offer her a ride, but Becca dug her hands deeper into her jacket, turned her head the other way, and pretended that she didn’t hear them. 

It didn’t hurt that she felt like she was in a dream. Nothing felt very real to her. She didn’t even know if she was awake.

* * *

Forks High School. 

The outside of the school was quiet. She walked past all of the cars, some of which looked as old as the truck, and towards the building labeled the main office. 

The drizzle hadn’t let up the entire time she’d been walking. Just where the hell was she? 

The building she now found herself in looked just as any other school would look like. Cut in half by a large counter, a ginger-haired woman in a long-sleeve purple t-shirt behind it. The woman was on the phone when Becca walked in, but open her entrance, she hung up quickly and looked at her expectantly. 

“I’m…Isabella Swan,” Becca filled in. 

“Of course,” the woman said, eyes lighting up, rifling through papers all over her desk. “You’ve missed two periods already, nearly the third. Did Charlie drive you?” 

Charlie? The man from the house?

“No ma’am,” Becca shook her head. “I couldn’t get my truck to start, so I walked here.” 

The woman balked. “You walked here? From Charlie Swan’s house? Good Lord, child, why didn’t you call your father?” 

“I didn’t want to bother him,” Becca smiled sheepishly. 

The office smelt of mahogany and cinnamon and Becca wrinkled her nose. She’d never liked cinnamon—reminded her too much of being a child. The woman came up to the counter and laid out her schedule and map of the school, highlighting routes for her. The school wasn’t difficult to figure out, and Becca felt after looking at the map just once she had a ready understanding of how to get around. Still, she said nothing, and let the woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Cope, continue. 

“Well, there you are,” Mrs. Cope said. “That’s everything. Have your teachers initial this paper. You’ll start with trigonometry with Mr. Varner. Do you think you can find your way?” 

Becca indicated that she could. 

Mr. Varner was disgruntled by her late entrance, but Becca herself thought nothing of it. After all, since nothing felt real, did anything even matter? Nevertheless, he sat her next to a girl who eagerly began to talk to her as soon as she sat down. Jessica, her name was. She was conventionally attractive with wild, curly hair, that favored Becca’s natural hair type. Becca liked her because of it immediately. 

“So, you’re from Arizona?” the girl asked as they walked to Spanish. “I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve never been out of Washington. I mean, Seattle’s nice, you know? But I’d much rather go somewhere warm and hot.” 

Washington. As in the Pacific North West? Becca shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and nodded, shivering as they crossed the path towards the other building. She had no clue why a school with temperatures as low as this one would have more than half of their buildings unconnected. “It’s great. Really pretty. Big population…” 

She trailed off. Becca had never been to Phoenix before. Becca had never left the East Coast before. 

“So, Jessica,” she said turning to the other girl in an attempt to steer the conversation. “How long does it take to get to Seattle from here?” 

Jessica furrowed her eyebrows. “You didn’t drive here yesterday? I thought you must’ve come in through Sea-Tac. Isn’t that the only way?” 

“Yeah,” Becca mumbled, blinking. “I uh, was asleep for most of the car ride.” 

“Oh. It’s about three and a half hours away. Why? Do you want to go sometime?” 

Becca grinned at her. “I’d love to.” 

“Cool. We should get a group and go for one weekend.” Jessica took a momentary pause and then began to prattle on about the school gossip, both teachers and students. 

It felt much easier to be a teenager now, she found, when she herself had grown up to realize none of the popular stuff or gossip really mattered. Becca just listened and didn’t say much. 

The inside of the Spanish building was warm, to Becca’s relief. The lady introduced herself and had her sit next to Jessica again. Becca had taken French in high school herself, but the material they were studying for the day—conditional endings—wasn’t difficult at all. Jessica took it upon herself to supplement the lesson with a detailed note of everyone’s phone numbers, which Becca took gratefully and slid into her notebook. 

If only she could find a phone, then she might have some use for them. 

Jessica walked with me to lunch. She talked more of the interior gossip of the school, about a guy named Mike who she had a crush on, and her friend Lauren, who was a bitch. They sat at the end of a table that was already full of people, all of which she was friends with. Mike, the guy she had a crush on, sat a few chairs down. Jessica gave her a warning look, but Becca shook it off. She herself was trying to ignore all of the people who were staring at her. 

It was there, listening to these classmates, that Becca began to realize where she was. 

In the corner of the cafeteria, several feet away from even the nearest people, was a group of five. None of them were talking to each other, or even looking at her, like the rest of the school. They all looked different—a dark curly-haired swole guy who looked like he should be in college; a beautiful blonde woman beside him, who was perhaps the prettiest woman Becca had ever seen before; a small dark-haired girl; a beautiful, bronze-haired boy who appeared much younger than the others. And yet, they all had the same pallid skin and dark eyes, perfectly angular features; they were all inhumanely beautiful. 

“Who are they?” Becca whispered to Jessica. And yet she was certain she already knew exactly what they were. 

Jessica stopped talking to Lauren in the middle of the conversation and looked up to see who she meant. The youngest boy, the bronze boy, suddenly stared at Jessica as if she had called his name. For a brief moment, his eyes then flicked to Becca’s, but he then looked away before she could. 

Jessica giggled in embarrassment. 

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The smaller one is Alice Cullen. They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.” 

Becca glanced back at them, looking particularly at Edward. She wasn’t sure how she knew that this one was Edward, just that she did. He was picking a bagel to pieces with his fingers and his mouth was moving very quickly. The other three continued to look away. 

Becca continued to stare at them as Jessica prattled on about how they were all adopted, due to the fact that Mrs. Cullen couldn’t have kids. They’d moved down from Alaska three years before. 

Edward suddenly looked up and met her gaze, with evident curiosity. Becca flushed and turned away. 

“That’s Edward Cullen,” Jessica filled in, once she realized who Becca was looking at. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently, none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She sniffled. 

Becca was about to give her a lesson in overturning the patriarchy, in ceasing to care so much about what men wanted, when her face fell. It all came together, locked in place, like a perfect jigsaw puzzle. Her mouth dropped open and her breathing became shallow. Suddenly, the lights in the cafeteria were way too bright and blinding. 

She stood abruptly from her chair, roughly slamming it back against the table. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she declared, aware of all of the eyes on her. Jessica was alarmed; the rest she couldn’t remember their names. 

And Becca couldn’t bring herself to look and see if Edward Cullen was staring at her. 

“Do you need—” Jessica began. But Becca was already halfway across the room. 

Her body was being clenched by panic. This felt more like her old self. A racing heart, quick breaths, stomach hurting. The interior of her body pent up like a rubber band about to pop. She ran down the hallway, to the closest bathroom, and fell into a stall, throwing herself over a toilet. 

After a few moments of heaving, she sat on top of the lid of the toilet and wondered if this was her new normal, vomiting every time something felt off or as a shock. How was it that she felt so dizzy, that motion sickness sensation, even though she’d been nowhere near a vehicle? 

It was him. Edward Cullen. She was in damn Twilight. 

Becca placed her head in her hands. The bell rang overhead, and she groaned again. What the hell was she meant to do? She was, by some chance, in a universe completely unlike her own. Hell, real Becca would only be about seven or eight. This was a universe with supernatural creatures living in secret. She was now a time traveler or something. Logically, it made perfect sense—a supernatural occurrence in the town of Forks, Washington. If Becca was going to replace anyone, of course, it would be Bella Swan. 

But if she wanted to survive, which she wasn’t actually sure that she did want to, she would have to find a way to escape Edward Cullen. 

Or did she? Should she confront him? Would he help her to get back to her real self? If vampires and werewolves were real, then magic probably was in this universe, too. Perhaps Becca should take whatever money Isabella Swan had and buy a one-way ticket to England. And she knew that Edward Cullen had a lot of money. Maybe she could weasel enough out of him. 

Another door opened and then swung closed. Becca cursed herself for not making sure that the room had been empty before she’d come inside. A few seconds later and there was a gentle tapping on her stall. 

“Hello?” the beautiful voice called. “Are you alright?” 

Becca cringed. The voice was gentle and sweet, and unlike anything she’d ever heard before. So beautiful that Shakespearean sonnets were probably written about it. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the girl continued. “I just heard you and wanted to make sure you’re alright. I’ll leave you alone if you let me know you’re okay.” 

“I’m fine,” Becca muttered. “Is lunch over?” 

“Yes. Are you the new girl? Isabella Swan?” 

Becca nodded even though the girl couldn’t see her. She stood and flushed the toilet, then stepped outside, coming face to face with none other than Alice Cullen. 

She was very tiny, perhaps 4’10 or so, and just as petite. Her hair was black and spiky and went every which way, but somehow still managed to look fashionable. Unlike her siblings, her eyes were less dark, a light brown almost. 

Becca felt comfortable and smiled down at her. She would have to get used to this if she had any hope of getting back to the future. “You can call me Bella.” 

“Pretty,” the girl said. She smiled as Becca went to the sink, washing her hands. “I’m Alice. I don’t think we have any classes together.” 

“I don’t think so either,” Becca said, lathering the soap. Her heart rate had calmed down, though she wasn’t sure if it was Alice’s presence or this weird ability that Isabella Swan’s body had to do with dealing with stress. “Then again I missed the first two periods today.” 

“You couldn’t find the school?” 

“Worse,” Becca rolled her eyes. “Charlie Swan, er my dad, bought me a manual truck and I don’t know how to drive it.” 

“Oh! I could teach you,” Alice said. 

“You can drive a manual?” 

“Sure,” she shrugged. “My dad insisted that we all learn. Makes it safer.” 

Becca dried her hands with paper towels and threw them in the trash. “Ah well, better get to class. Do you know where biology is?” 

“I have a class right near there!” Alice beamed at her and led the way across the school. 

They didn’t talk as they went, but Becca felt oddly at ease with her. Not awkward in the slightest. Becca was going to have to have a good long thinking session tonight as soon as she was alone about what to do next. She didn’t have a strong memory about Twilight, but she knew that something happened with Edward and the smell of Bella’s blood. But Alice seemed completely fine. Perhaps it was different this time? 

“Here you go!” Alice said cheerfully, outside the classroom. 

Becca peeked through the window. The man was at the front of the room, a dozen black lab tables in front of him, lecturing. Becca was making a habit of these late entrances. She’d never been late for anything in her real life. She was abnormally punctual. 

“It’s alright,” Alice promised, noticing her hesitation. “You won’t bother him.” 

Becca glanced at her dubiously. 

Alice sighed. She reached forward and turned the nob of the door, stepping inside just as the teacher stopped lecturing. Becca searched only for Edward, who she saw was staring in pure shock at his sister. 

“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Banner,” Alice began. 

The teacher, dark-haired, adjusted his glasses, and sighed. He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. “Please proceed, Miss Cullen.” 

Alice smiled angelically at him. “This is Bella Swan. It’s her first day. She got lost trying to find the building.” 

“Well, perhaps Miss Swan, should learn how to advocate for herself.” He shook his head, then headed to the back of the classroom, where he picked up a spare book and dropped it loudly on the only empty seat, besides Edward Cullen. Mr. Banner looked back up at them. “Miss Cullen, I do believe you should be going to your next class now, lest you be late, too.” 

Alice smiled at him, waved at Becca, and turned to go back the way they’d come. Apparently, her class wasn’t in this hall, as she’d said. 

Becca swallowed. There wasn’t another face she recognized besides Edward’s. Mr. Banner sighed. “Miss Swan, please give your new peers the chance to continue learning about cell anatomy. I don’t know how they did things in Phoenix, but I assure you that here we care a lot about respect.” 

Becca wanted to roll her eyes. He was pretentious for a high school biology teacher in the middle of nowhere. She reached behind her and brought the door to a close. There was a fan right next to the door, though Becca couldn’t imagine why they would need such a thing in these temperatures. She headed straight for the empty seat beside Edward Cullen. Mr. Banner had already begun speaking again before she’d had a chance to sit down. 

She should have been bothered by the deathly glare Edward Cullen was now given her, by how stiff he was, how he’d angled his body as far away from hers within seconds. But all Becca could think as she sat in the seat was that she wanted to bang her head against the desk. Of course, she had forgotten this part. How Edward Cullen wanted to kill her when he first smelt her. How he’d apparently sat in torture for the entire class period, brainstorming a billion ways to kill her. 

Oh well, Becca thought. If he killed her, would it really be the worst thing, anyway? That was what she had wanted, after all. Not to end up in some weird alternate universe she’d been obsessed with when she was thirteen. 

This Edward didn’t look much like the movie version. His hair was more ginger than brown. There was no way that his true beauty could have conveyed in a movie, either. He was more beautiful than the most attractive actor she’d ever seen. And he was undeniably a teenager, much like Bella Swan’s body. 

Becca wondered if he was brainstorming ways to kill her now. Maybe she could help him. Should she leave? Would that make it easier for him to follow her? After a while, her eyelids felt heavy, and Mr. Banner’s lecture was boring, so she let her head droop down on the table. Becca kept up the illusion that she was taking notes, but her mind was everywhere else. 

When the bell rang, minutes later, Edward Cullen sprang up and was gone. 

Becca was left behind, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this! I appreciate it. I'd love it if you could tell me what you think. I just wrote 3000 words of this bc of the sunday scaries lol :/ 
> 
> Hope you're safe, sane, and healthy in these crazy times!


	2. Open Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen...I'm more surprised than you are that I wrote this much in 24 hours and worked all day today. 
> 
> I did my best to proofread. Beware of the fact that I worked on Zoom all day and my eyes are very tired, though I do deeply and sincerely apologize if there are any blinding errors!

There were so many days in her life, especially once she’d turned eighteen, that Becca had wondered what the point of life was. Her family and friends all told her that everyone wondered what to do, but Becca felt that she had it worse than the others. She’d go about her day, helping children, at least, hopefully, helping children—she could never really be sure—then come home and wonder if this would really be what her life was meant to be all about. 

While she wished she could have told her actual seventeen-year-old self to chill out, she felt anything but chill, considering the recent events. 

On the walk to her next class, she was almost hyperventilating at whatever she had gotten herself into. Then she spent the entirety of gym class in the bathroom, feigning stomach cramps. She continued to feel like she was in a dream state, almost a trance, and she wondered idly if she’d been through some sort of trauma in her real life that would indict this sort of maladaptive daydreaming. It was true that she felt detached from her mind, but it was also true that while reality felt sort of…vague, it also felt ridiculously real. 

She was still surprised by how quickly this body could calm down. How all she had to do was take a few deep breaths and she’d be fine. 

And yet every time she stared at this face in the mirror, she confirmed that she was still Bella Swan. 

She looked different than Becca would have pictured--prettier, softer, kinder. Twilight had made Bella out to be ordinary, but Becca knew, looking at her reflection in the mirror, that Bella Swan looked anything but ordinary. When Becca had a straight face, her lips turned downward, so that she was perpetually frowning. When Bella had a straight face, she looked content. 

If this world was made up, happening inside her head, did that then mean she could do anything and survive? 

Then again, if this world wasn’t real, it meant there weren’t any severe consequences. 

She could live the life she’d always dreamed of, not burdened by any societal rules. She could take all of Isabella Swan’s money and buy a ticket to Hawaii. She could rob a bank and move to Switzerland. Learn to do a backflip. Try cocaine. Win a Grammy. Maybe she could even learn to scuba dive or take a submarine down into the Mariana Trench, just like James Cameron did. 

The only thing stopping her was the small likelihood that this was her new reality. 

Shit, maybe she should go and find Edward Cullen and let him bite her right then and there. He could take one snap at her and then wake her up from whatever kind of dream this was. Bring her back to her own reality. 

And yet she couldn’t entirely remember her life before. It was blurry. She knew that she was a social worker who worked in Trenton; she knew she saw twelve kids a day on average and was meant to see Delilah today; she knew she drove a 2008 Toyota Corolla and that the keys were on top of her desk. But she could not remember yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. It was as if time had ceased to exist for her and she was outside of the continuum. 

She would have to be careful—maintain the right sort of grip on her own reality. She would be the Hannah Montana of her own world. Bella Swan on the outside, Becca Fitzgerald on the inside. The important step of helping someone through a hallucination, she remembered, was calmly reminding them that they were hallucinating. She would have to calmly remind herself who she was, lest she go insane. 

But all of that would happen daily. 

For now, Becca knew just what to do. 

She was going to make a bucket list and live out this temporary life to her heart’s content.

* * *

Chief Swan was waiting for her outside of the gym, police car and all. Becca cursed and stomped her foot. She missed the city. People weren’t this nosy. 

“Why didn’t you call and tell me your truck didn’t work this morning, Bells?” He said, frowning at her as she made her way towards him. “I would have given you a ride.” 

The drizzle had stopped, but the sky was all gray. A few students eyed the police cruiser with interest, but Becca had made it very clear she didn’t want to talk to anyone. A few had tried, but she’d ignored them. If she was here for any real sort of time, she was going to have to buy headphones. 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she mumbled, shoving her backpack into her lap and slamming the door behind her. 

His frown deepened but he didn’t respond, waiting until she’d put on her seatbelt before starting the car. 

“Were people nice to you today?” he asked. 

“Mostly,” Becca said, watching as he reversed out of the parking lot. These other kids sure were bad drivers. One kid, Tyler, she thought his name was, had to reverse and repark twice before backing out successfully. 

“Did you make any friends?” he pressed, talkative for a man who was known for being the opposite of verbose. 

“Uh, yeah. This girl named Jessica Stanley and Alice.” 

“Stanley’s are a good family,” he replied gruffly in approval. “Alice who?” 

“Cullen.” 

He looked at her in surprise but didn’t say anything. Becca busied herself by staring out of the window. She could see the town more now than when she was walking in the drizzle. It was dreadfully small, almost quaint but not quite, to her disappointment. She was going to have to learn to drive that truck if she had any hope of completing her new list of life goals. 

Charlie didn’t speak again until he pulled into his driveway. “I wonder what’s wrong with your truck,” he commented as he parked beside it. “It was working fine yesterday.” 

Becca shrugged and undid her seatbelt. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I just can’t drive manual.” 

Charlie turned to stare at her in pure bewilderment. “Bella, I taught you how to drive stick shift last summer. In Los Angeles. Remember?” 

Becca’s heart began to race. Although she had this newfound variable of freedom, she also didn’t want to draw attention to herself before she could get out and away. She already had much bigger plans than spending however many days she had of this life in Forks, Washington. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she pulled her legs up into the seat. She looked at him and tried to grin. “I guess I forgot. Maybe you could teach me again?” 

Charlie kept on frowning but didn’t say anything further. 

“I’ve got to go back to the station…” he trailed off. “I’ll be home around six. You can call and order pizza if you want. There isn’t much here to eat.” 

Becca took this as her cue and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. 

He rolled the window down and she turned back. “You going to leave your backpack, Bells?” 

Becca’s eyes widened and she hurried back to the car. She hadn’t used one in so long; typically, when she was out visiting kids, she kept a wristlet with everything she needed. 

“You’re acting weird,” Charlie mused. “Maybe you should call your mom.” 

“Maybe,” Becca said cheerfully. She took her backpack and waved goodbye to Charlie. 

For the next few hours, she busied herself by making a list of everything she could remember about the Twilight universe. The werewolves, the creepy vamps that came after Bella during the baseball game, Jasper attacking her. She could probably avoid most of the bad stuff, if she remembered. Bella had gotten attacked in that city. Becca just wouldn’t go there. She wouldn’t ever have a birthday party at the Cullen house. 

Edward Cullen and his weird obsession with Bella be damned. Becca was going to swindle him out of his money, take it, and spend the rest of her days living out her wildest dreams. Money had always been a hindrance for her—but not anymore. The Cullens were what, millionaires? Billionaires? All she needed was some of it. 

This body probably had at least a few decades in it, as long as she got away from all the freaky deeky supernatural stuff, given that Bella Swan didn’t suffer from any genetic disorders. She could live a peaceful life out somewhere nice, maybe the French Riviera, and not have to think about any of the repercussions for what this might mean. Becca had spent so much of her life taking care of so many other people. In this temporary second life, she was going to take care of her.

* * *

Edward Cullen didn’t return to school. It seemed right, at least to Becca, anyway. She knew he would return at some point and that she would have a conversation with him when he did. 

While she waited, she built up friendships around her. She succumbed to Charlie driving her to school, even though she’d endeavored to wake up early and walk herself there. He’d caught her the first time, at a little after six in the morning, and threatened to send her back to where she came from. Becca rolled her eyes, but inside she felt jostled. Could he send her back to New Jersey? Did she want to go back there? 

By Thursday, Angela, a quiet, shy girl that Becca liked immensely, had taken it upon herself to drive Becca to school in the mornings. It was slightly out of the way, but Angela showed up with a smile and, after she discovered Becca wasn’t eating breakfast, a bagel with just the right amount of cream cheese. These drives were peaceful and quiet, but Becca liked them all the same. 

In the afternoons, Jessica would drive her home. Angela and Jessica were two very different people. Becca had a faint memory of hating Jessica when she read Twilight, but she couldn’t imagine why. Jessica could be superficial, speaking of boys and rumors and whatever else was on her mind. But she could also be thoughtful, and within hours of knowing her, Becca had peeled off her layers and figured out she only said those things because she just wanted to be liked by whoever she was with, just as everyone did. 

The hatred of Jessica Stanley, therefore, was purely misogynistic. 

And it turned out, while Becca didn’t remember some specifics of her life back in Jersey, she did remember almost everything that she had learned in grad school. Becca pushed those around her to think deeper, more critically, about their emotions. It wasn’t entirely ethical, she supposed, to do this sort of case study, but she had nothing better to do. Besides, her aim was to make the good people of this may be a real or maybe unreal town of Forks more efficient, effective communicators and citizens. 

She addressed almost every conversation like it was a counseling session, even with her teachers. It gave her a calm, soothing report with all of them. They found her more mature than any of the other students, save for the Cullens, but even Becca didn’t know that. 

Her first weekend in Forks was quiet, if a little boring. She still couldn’t drive the truck, and Charlie spent the entire weekend working. All Bella Swan had in her room were CDs and books, and Becca hated reading. She perused Charlie’s DVD collection, but there wasn’t much there, either. He had all fourteen seasons of Bonanza and several movies she’d never even heard of. In the very back, there were VHS tapes—Becca stared at those in wonder. She hadn’t seen them since she was a child. She spent some time researching whatever she could think of on Bella’s computer, but it took forever to work, and the internet was even slower. 

All of the classes were boring. She’d taken them all before, except for Spanish, in her own passage through high school, but unfortunately, she couldn’t remember most of the specifics about any of them. This meant she couldn’t survive on her instincts alone and had to actually study. Take biology for instance—she had already been to college and knew that she would never actually need to know mitosis. Why waste her time on learning it now? And although there wasn’t much else to do, she found herself slipping away into topics she enjoyed—like categorizing the good people of Forks into Myers-Briggs personality types. 

English was fine, government was fun, trigonometry was abysmal. Spanish was doable, Biology was tough, and gym was her favorite. She would spend the entire hour pounding out her frustrations on whatever silly game they were playing that day. And Mike Newton, who she English with, was always ready to be her partner. 

By the time it was Monday, she had completed her homework to the highest standard. Perhaps Bella Swan would become valedictorian after Becca was done here. 

Angela drove to school slowly that morning.

“Sorry, Bella,” she apologized. “I don’t want to risk it.” 

Becca simply smiled back at her, staring out of the window. The snow made her feel more alive than ever since she’d woken up in this strange, strange world. 

She was thinking about how much her baby brother, Bennet, would love to see the snow. Bennet, with his dark curls that framed his face and his dimpled, crooked smile. He made a big deal out of every snowfall; when he had school, he’d come home and spend the entire day in the yard, building snowman after snowman until his whole body was pink. Usually, he’d end up with an entire colony of snow people before the day was over. More than once he’d gotten in trouble for ruining school clothes in the snow. 

She closed her eyes and imagined she was driving him to school. 

The rest of her morning was uneventful. 

“Wow,” Mike Newton said, examining the sky, as he walked beside her to Spanish. “It’s really coming down now.” 

She wasn’t particularly fond of Mike, but she also wasn’t against him, either. He seemed like a completely average, if a bit overeager, teenage boy. Blond, blue-eyed, athlete. He had the whole boy next door thing going on that made her want to vomit. Besides, if she was actually twenty-four, she couldn’t allow these kids to harbor crushes on her. 

“Yeah,” Becca replied, smiling up at the sky, letting the flakes hit her face. “My little brother loves snow.” 

The courtyard was full of people running and lobbing snowballs at each other. Their childlike excitement made her miss Bennet. She hadn’t even thought of him in the entire week she’d been in this reality. What kind of sister did that make her? 

“You have a brother?” Mike Newton asked. “I didn’t know that. 

Becca froze. Did Bella Swan have siblings? No, she most certainly did not. Luckily before she could come up with a statement to cover for herself, someone threw a snowball straight into the back of Mike’s head. They both turned to look behind them. Becca knew, looking at the body language of those around them, it most definitely came from Eric, a boy she also had English with. 

“I’ll see you later,” Becca said, laughing. She was already shivering in the cold—no need for extra precipitation to be added to that. 

Becca was surprised by how alive she felt as everyone chattered about the snow, planning a huge snowball fight directly after school. Even Jessica, who normally kept her real emotions private when it was just the two of them, was ecstatic about the snow. The girl dragged her feet through it, taking every opportunity to hear the crunch beneath her boots. 

Becca couldn’t remember the last time she had a smile on her face for so long. It was like she’d spent an entire weekend with her baby brother again. 

Mike Newton caught up to them as they were entering the cafeteria. The three of them got in line for the hot lunch together, and Becca listened to Mike and Jessica talk excitedly about the snow fight after school. Their excitement was contagious, and Becca was reminded of why she’d decided to go into social work in the first place. 

It was when she reached for a banana from the fruit bar that she saw, from the corner of her eye, that Edward Cullen was back. 

Becca whirled around in surprise. He was looking away from her, at the bigger one, Emmett. Becca’s breath caught in her throat. She’d gotten used to a world without him—she’d nearly, stupidly, forgotten that this was the main part of the Twilight plot. A vampire falling in love with a human. 

Alice Cullen, who was sitting to Edward’s left, caught Becca’s eye and smiled. She lifted her hand to wave. Becca smiled and waved back. Alice hadn’t spoken to her since her first day of school but had offered her a smile every time they’d been in any sort of close proximity. 

“Did Alice Cullen just wave at you?” Jessica asked in shock. They were only waiting for Mike to pay for his food. 

“Yeah,” Becca replied, looking back at Jessica. “Why?” 

“She’s really frigging weird, that’s why,” Jessica mumbled. She snatched her bottle of juice and led the way to the longer table on the other side of the room, where they all sat. 

Becca frowned, withholding a sigh. Here she was thinking she had made so much progress with the girl. 

As the others ate and chattered on finally about other topics than the snow, Becca ate quietly. More than once, she found herself staring across the cafeteria at Edward. If Edward Cullen didn’t look like such a teenager to her, she felt like she might actually be in danger of falling in love with him. As it was, he was so beautiful it made her heart race. He was dressed maturely, a white collar under a beige sweater over dark denim; hair so nice and styled that he could have been a model just for that. Also, of course, everything else about him. 

“Bella, what are you staring at?” Jessica asked once she’d forgiven Becca for waving at Alice. 

At that moment, Edward’s eyes flashed over to meet Becca’s. 

Becca dropped her gaze immediately. Of course, Edward had heard Jessica. He could hear everything. On top of being some sort of supernatural creature, he could also read minds. Becca had always thought that particular addition to his character was over the top, but she guessed not, considering the current state of living she’d found herself in. 

“Edward Cullen is staring at you,” Jessica giggled. 

“He’s probably just impressed by my choice in footwear,” Becca said, continuing to carefully look down at the table. 

Jessica took one look at Becca’s feet, bright yellow Keds she’d purchased from the one department store in town, and cackled. They laughed together and Becca prided herself in helping to steer the conversation away from boys. If she could just teach these teenage girls that they were worth more than whatever boy paid them attention, she’d be halfway to already making Forks, Washington a better place. 

Becca left for biology a few minutes before the bell. It had become her practice to leave early enough to get there before anyone else was in the classroom. Here she would prepare herself, look over the notes, pretend to be a model student. What she was really doing was chanting her mantras in her head. 

My name is Becca. I am twenty-four years old. I am from Trenton, New Jersey. My name is Becca. I am twenty-four years old. I am from Trenton, New Jersey. My name is Becca. I am twenty-four years old. I am from Trenton, New Jersey. My name is Becca. I am twenty-four years old. I am from Trenton, New Jersey. My name is…

“Hello,” a quiet voice said from beside her. She hadn’t even heard him come in. “You must be Bella.” 

“Becca,” she corrected automatically. 

She flinched. “Uh, I mean, yes, Bella.” 

Becca finally looked up at him. He was sitting as far away from her as the desk would allow, but his chair was angled in her direction. His hair was dripping wet from the snow, but his face was kind. Except his eyebrows were knitted in confusion. 

“My name is Edward Cullen,” he continued after a pause. He smiled, though his face was still confused. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week.” 

Becca wanted to berate herself over the head. She hadn’t made one mistake for a week. Not one! Then Edward Cullen had to show up and suddenly she was sprouting her real name and acting like a fool. 

“Nice to meet you,” she finally muttered, wringing her hands together. 

“Likewise,” he smiled at her, the frown lines gone. 

Mr. Banner started class. Becca tried to focus as he explained the lab. They were meant to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis and label them. They weren’t allowed to use their books. They had twenty minutes. 

This would have been fine, if Becca actually remembered what any of the classifications were. Mitosis was single-cell breeding. Meiosis was double? 

“Get started,” Mr. Banner commanded. 

“Ladies first, partner?” Edward asked. Becca looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that she could only stare at him. She got why Bella Swan was so easily transfixed by him. 

“Or I could start, if you wish.” His smile disappeared. 

Becca stared at him for a beat longer. She pushed the microscope towards him. “Nah. You start. Patriarchy be damned.” 

Edward just blinked at her. 

Becca snatched the worksheet from in front of him and picked up her pen. “You identify, I’ll be secretary.” 

Edward furrowed his brows again, staring down at her, confusion so evident in his features he could have been the poster child for an Inside Out character. He shook his head minutely, then bent his head over the microscope. 

“Prophase,” he muttered. He watched her write it down then said, low enough so that Mr. Banner, who was only two tables away from them couldn’t hear, “Are you sure you don’t want to look?” 

“Absolutely sure,” Becca answered, writing their names at the top of the page. 

Edward shook his head again, then put the second slide in. 

“Anaphase,” he said. 

“And the third?” Becca asked, once she’d looked up from writing the answer and realized that he was staring at her. 

Wordlessly, he lifted the second slide and put the next under the microscope. He took a quick peek. “Interphase.” 

Becca nodded, admiring her own handwriting. She’d always loved that about herself. She was surprised it carried over into Bella Swan’s body. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to do the last two? They’ll be on the test.” 

Becca shrugged. “I don’t really need to know it though, do I? It’s not like I’m going to become a molecular biologist.” 

He laughed quietly. “The fourth is metaphase and the fifth is cytokinesis.” 

Becca frowned at him. “You didn’t even look at them.” 

“Neither did you,” Edward smirked at her. He held the fifth slide up for her to say, between his long, white fingers. “Metaphase and cytokinesis are the only two answers left, and we can see that this slide has two cells. The only answer that works, then, is this cytokinesis.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. She knew it was more likely that he knew the answers because he’d picked them out of someone’s head, but she wasn’t going to let him in on the fact that she knew his secrets. 

They were finished way before any of the other groups, with at least sixteen minutes to spare. Becca concentrated on the chart she was making, placing each of the classmates she knew into MBTI types. She didn’t put much faith into personality typing herself, but it gave her something to do. 

Mr. Banner came by their table, to see why they weren’t working together. He looked over their shoulders to glance at the completed lab, then started to check them for correctness. 

“So, Edward, didn’t you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?” Mr. Banner asked. 

“Bella,” Edward corrected. “And we completed the lab together.” 

Mr. Banner looked down at Becca, his expression skeptical. “You helped him?” 

“I did,” Becca answered proudly. 

He frowned. “Were you in an advanced placement program?” 

Well, she had been…AP French. Years ago, when she was in high school. 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” He mumbled something Becca couldn’t understand, then walked away. 

Becca went back to categorizing her peers. 

“What are you doing?” Edward asked, a few moments later. 

“MBTI types.” 

“Myers-Briggs?” he questioned, shocked. “You know Jungian psychology?” 

“Mhm,” Becca hummed. 

Edward didn’t say anything further. 

Jessica was an ESFJ, she decided. Angela…an INFJ? It was difficult for her to categorize without a chart in front of her. She knew it was part of popular culture to sort based on which letter fit best, but it was actually much deeper than that and had to do primarily with cognitive functions. Maybe Becca should find a bookstore after all; she could do with some psychology textbooks. Especially as she continued to diagnose herself. 

“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” Edward asked. Becca sighed. She wished he would forgo the small talk and just admit that he was a vampire. She hated having to pace herself. She knew Edward would never let her name slip go—didn’t he have a memory that remembered everything? 

She shrugged. “I guess.” 

Becca would miss the memories of her brother more than the snow. 

“You don’t like the cold?” he asked. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugged again. 

“Living here must be a bit difficult for you, then.” 

Becca snorted. “That is a very accurate statement.” 

She still wasn’t looking up at his face, so she didn’t see the clear fascination evident in his expression. Mike Newton was likely an ESFP. Eric Yorkie, an INFP, perhaps? 

“Why did you come here, then?” 

Becca stopped writing and stared up at him, her own brows furrowing. She searched his face. His skin was pale white but so perfect it appeared airbrushed. His eyes were golden, she supposed, but she would more accurately describe them as light brown. 

“You act like it was a choice,” she muttered. 

“Wasn’t it?” 

Goosebumps lined her arms. Where had she heard that? Becca shivered and shook her head. She met his eyes again. “Most things in life aren’t choices. We have little control over most things, actually, and it’s ludicrous to pretend otherwise.” 

He stared at her for so long after that that Becca began to worry that she’d made another slip. 

“What?” she demanded when he didn’t say anything. 

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes continued to search hers and Becca felt her cheeks, Bella’s cheeks, flamed in response. 

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and Becca turned away from Edward’s gaze to concentrate. She shoved her MBTI chart into her notebook. It bothered her that there was only one real person in this universe that she had to fool, and he was the one person she’d already shown a mistake. Becca was going to have to do some clear damage control if she wanted any hope of getting out of this. 

Would she still be able to befriend him? Should she keep her distance? Should she flee the area and head East? 

She peeked at him through the corner of her eye. He was leaning away from her, his hands gripping the edge of the table. Right, Becca reminded herself. He’s still thirsty for her. Thirsty for Bella Swan. Didn’t they make out before he could control himself? 

When the bell finally rang, Edward left just as quickly as he had last Monday. 

Mike walked beside her towards the gym. 

“That was awful,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “You’re so lucky you had Cullen.”

“Yeah,” Becca agreed, though she was beginning to wonder if it was luck or a disaster. 

“He seemed really friendly today,” he commented, as they put on their coats. 

“Yeah,” Becca agreed again. “He seems like a nice guy.” 

“Nice?” Mike asked incredulously. “He’s a psychopath. All of the Cullens are.” 

At this, Becca frowned. She’d always been a little too bothered by humanity’s most recent, or rather, in the future, she supposed, habit to categorize mental health and mental conditions so resolutely. Real disorders, real psychopathy, took a lot of time to diagnose. Besides, in theory, the Cullens weren’t psychopaths. Just vampires. Vampirism, though not listed in the DSM-V, was not technically a mental condition, so much as a physical one. They couldn’t help it if they had to do certain things to survive. 

When Becca walked to Jessica’s car that afternoon, it was drizzling again. She could see Edward leaning against his family’s Volvo, several parking spaces away. While she waited for Jessica, she was certain that Edward was staring at her, likely capable of looking directly into her eyes from such a far distance. 

Disgusted with her own mishaps, Becca turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following canon mostly...which means, guess what's coming up in chapter 3? 😁
> 
> I really really appreciate all of you who commented, left kudos, or bookmarked! Thank you for feeding my writing :) 
> 
> Anything you have to say is welcomed & appreciated. 
> 
> Stay safe out there!!!


	3. Phenomenon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, my sincere apologies if there are any glaring errors. Feel free to call me out on them, I won't be offended! :)

While she sleeps, she dreams of being in her bed. The slight bend in the middle of the mattress that was bought off of Amazon for two-hundred dollars four years ago. The chilliness of the room comes from the automatic heater turning off in the dead of the winter. The soft fur of her Sherpa blanket. Her cat, Nicholas, snores in his sleep. He has a breathing problem, feline asthma, and Becca has to give him medication daily. She snuggles against him, wary of the cold of the room. She feels safe and warm next to that cat. 

When Becca wakes up, Nicholas is gone. 

She’s not in New Jersey. She’s in Washington. 

And she’s not Becca Fitzgerald any longer. She’s Bella Swan. 

Who will give him his feline asthma medicine? 

* * *

“Charlie,” Becca said that morning, coming downstairs. He had the paper open in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at her and glared. “Dad,” she corrected, with a smile. “Can we get a cat?”

“A cat?” he asked, incredulously. “What do you want a cat for?” 

Becca rifled through the fridge. Charlie lived like a minimalist when it came to the kitchen. She took out a piece of cheese and preheated the oven. It was either toast or old takeout. She hopped on top of the counter. “Did you know that owning a cat can lower blood pressure?” 

Charlie stared at her. “You don’t have high blood pressure, Bella.” 

“But I _could,_ ” Becca pointed out, tilting her head. “Or you could. Hypertension affects one in every three Americans.” 

Charlie processed this by tapping his fingers against the table. Finally, he shrugged. “I guess I have no problem with it. As long as you take care of it. I don’t know where you’ll find any pets around here, though. The animal shelter in town is really just for animal control.” 

Becca frowned. “Where’s the closest real shelter?” 

“Maybe in La Push.” He stood up and put his plate in the sink. “I’ve got to get to the station. See you later, Bells.” 

Becca waved as she watched him go. The oven beeped and she put her toast inside, drumming her hand on the counter. Outside of the window, the morning was clear. None of the usual fog. The ground was covered in light snow and she could tell that the driveway was frozen over with ice. The road, it appeared, would be just as frozen. She frowned. Did they not salt the roads here? 

* * *

By the time Angela pulled up outside her door, Becca had dressed the warmest clothing she could. Bella Swan had a very limited fashion sense—mostly jeans and simple shirts—and she longed for better clothes. Mostly, she longed for her shoes. In the years since she’d been working, Becca occasionally acted as guardian ad litem for some of the children she worked with. She had thus transitioned to wearing more formal clothes, for inside the courtroom, and had grown an impressive collection of heels. She herself was a few inches shorter than this body, and Becca missed her tangerine-colored pumps most of all.

Children loved when you wore bright shoes. It signaled some sort of comfort. Maybe Becca could find a babysitting job somewhere around here, at least until she could swindle money out of the Cullens. 

“It’s going to take a while,” Angela said apologetically when Becca climbed inside her car. “The roads are really slick.” 

Becca nodded her consent, pulling out the essay that was due at the start of class. She was writing about how Heathcliff and Catherine were never actually in romantic love, that they just longed for companionship and familiarity. She’d spent the night before pouring over the book for quotes. As much as she hated reading, every instinct inside her body longed to write her essays the way she would have if she were in college. Becca was so absorbed in proving her point that she had fallen asleep still looking for textual evidence and neglected to finish. 

The ride was quiet. Angela had the radio on low, but Becca wasn’t familiar with any of the songs. There was something intentional about the fact that Heathcliff didn’t have a last name. Heathcliff, Heathcliff. His character was inhumane. Was Bronte suggesting that he was no different than an animal? 

Was Bronte, then, suggesting that when people were denied basic kindness and care they lost their humanity? 

Becca tapped her pen against her notebook in thought. 

Angela breathed a sigh of relief when she finally parked the car. She’d only lost control briefly over a small patch of black ice, but luckily the drive to school was not that far. Becca had only noticed that minor mishap because of Angela's squeal--but Angela had it under control almost immediately. Yet the farther that Angela drove, the more that Becca was surprised, shocked really, that the town of Forks made no provisions towards having safer roads. The closer to the mountains that you got, the more the landscape was elevated. There were cliffs scattered throughout. It was dangerous not to provide more support. 

“I have to go see Mr. Varner before class,” Angela told her. “But I’ll leave the heat on. You can stay in the car and work if you want, just make sure you bring the keys with you when you leave.” 

Becca smiled gratefully. She was enjoying the opportunity to practice her social practices on all of the kids at school, but it did make her exhausted by the end of the day. During her sophomore year of college, she’d spent a semester student teaching, back when she’d thought she might go into education, and that experience alone left her so tired she would go to sleep as soon as she got home. But pretending to be a teenager was much more tiresome. 

Angela closed her door and held onto the side of the car as she walked towards the school. Becca watched until the girl was safely inside, then went back to staring down at her essay. 

What Becca really wanted to conclude this essay with was the obvious effect that childhood neglect and housing insecurity had on Heathcliff’s character. He was emotionally stunted because, although Mr. Earnshaw did his best to treat him like a son, Heathcliff was still an exterior to the family with nearly every other character. His psyche, then, was damaged, so he clung to Catherine, the only live character who had ever shown him kinship. 

And yet she couldn’t say all of this. Housing insecurity was a relatively new term—the politically correct way of saying homeless in contemporary social and psychology work. It was one thing for Becca to help Bella Swan have a 4.0 GPA. It would be entirely another to make herself out to be some sort of genius this early on in the game. 

Quickly, she scribbled a conclusion that was a replica of her introduction, thesis, and all, and signed Bella's name in the corner. 

She undid her seatbelt and reached over to pull the keys out of the ignition, ignoring the beeping sound that resulted. Becca shoved her essay down deep into her backpack and pushed open the car door, planting her feet carefully on the icy concrete and groaning which she felt how slick it was underneath the yellow converse she wore. 

Did the school not even salt their pavement? 

Becca was reaching for her backpack when she heard an odd sound. 

It was a high-pitched screech that was becoming loud. She looked up, startled. First, she saw Edward Cullen, standing beside his car, horrified. All around him were faces in shock, though none quite as bad as his. Coming towards Becca was the dark blue van she’d seen have trouble parking many times, belonging to a Mr. Tyler Crowley. 

“Ah, fuck,” Becca muttered. She’d forgotten about this ridiculous incident. 

Just before the van reached her, something crashed into her. Cold and icy, it felt like the ice sculpture that her university had built for her college graduation. But Becca didn’t have time to process this. 

Her head fell smack against the pavement from the force, and she blacked out. 

* * *

Before she opened her eyes, she was aware of many things. First, there was an obnoxious beeping sound to her left. Several voices were talking, but they were far enough away that she couldn’t understand them. The air around her was cold and smelt of antiseptic. She remembered that she had been in Forks, Washington, and not Trenton. She had been Bella Swan, not Becca Fitzgerald. Was she still?

Becca pushed her hands down on the bed, flexing her fingers. 

“Welcome back, Miss Swan,” a voice said. 

Becca’s eyes fluttered open. 

Beside her bed was a man who could be none other than Carlisle Cullen. He had the unmistakable white skin of the other Cullens, blond hair, golden eyes. Oddly enough, Becca found herself most attracted to him than any of the others. His lips showed a gentle smile as he stood at the end of her bed, examining her chart. But most of all, Becca was surprised by just how calm she felt in his presence. Something about this world had the impression of a narcotic. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes searching hers. They were darker than Edward’s, and he looked tired. He also looked about her age. Her real age, that is. 

Becca’s throat felt awful. So dry. She coughed. Dr. Cullen continued to stare at her, smiling, until she responded. 

“Tired,” she finally answered. 

Dr. Cullen closed her chart and checked her eyes with his penlight. 

“You were in an accident. You hit your head pretty hard against the pavement. It could have dislocated your shunt. The good news is that it didn’t—I examined it myself and it’s working perfectly. There wasn’t a neurologist listed in your file.” He stood back up and folded his arms, looking down at her, not unkindly. “I don’t suppose you know why your father has no recollection of you having a shunt, do you?” 

Becca froze, eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat. 

Becca Fitzgerald had a VP shunt in her brain. She’d been born with spina bifida occulta, the most common type--approximately one in ten babies born in the US were born with it. Most people with this type of spina bifida had no problems, but Becca was part of the rare percentage who also had hydrocephalus—excess cerebrospinal fluid on her brain. Most of the time, it did not affect her life. Most of the time, she didn’t even give it a spare thought. Her shunt had been replaced pretty recently when she was twenty-three. She wasn’t due for another checkup at the hydrocephalus clinic until shortly after her twenty-sixth birthday. 

But this…this was confounding. Did shifting into a different universe affect the age of her shunt? 

Did this also mean that she was Bella Swan’s body with Becca Fitzgerald’s brain? 

“I’m not sure,” she rasped, then coughed again. She flexed her fingers. Her body wasn’t even sore. Her head had a bit of an ache, but that was probably normal. “You said the accident. Is my friend…is Angela alright?” 

“You don’t remember?” He asked, sitting on the edge of her bed. His frown deepened. “You were alone. Miss Webber had already gone into the building. One of your classmates lost control of their vehicle over the ice and it came speeding toward you.” 

Becca left her foot a few inches above the bed. She still had the complete function of both. She stretched her arms out, side to side. Complete control there, too. As far as she could see, she didn’t even have any bruises. 

“If I was hit by a car,” she began, now puzzled. “Then shouldn’t I have more damage?” 

There was a beat of silence. Then, he said, “You were incredibly lucky, Miss Swan.” 

Becca frowned at this. There was something very obvious she was missing about this situation, but her head was beginning to hurt even more. 

Dr. Cullen frowned at her discomfort. “You’re also incredibly lucky, you know, that we did an x-ray before an MRI. We were able to see the placement of your shunt. Did your neurologist ever tell you that programmable shunts are affected by strong magnets?” 

Of course, Becca knew this. She’d had a programmable shunt for her entire life. 

“How long do I have to stay here?” she whispered instead of answering. 

“Just a few more hours. We need to monitor your vitals for a bit longer,” He replied, standing up. He smiled at her again. “Go ahead and get some sleep. I’ll send a nurse in to check on you.” 

After he walked away, Becca dutifully closed her eyes. It wasn’t too hard—having even a very minor brain injury could make your head feel like it had been run over by a truck. Well, it almost had, she mused. As she was drifting away, she felt the slightest pressure on her hand, as if someone was standing right beside her. 

But she was probably dreaming. 

* * *

“…You didn’t think it was important to tell me our daughter had brain surgery? Brain surgery!” Charlie nearly yelled. He was trying to whisper, but his evident anger made his attempt moot. Becca shivered, but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.

“I didn’t know the specifics!” A woman yelled back, not even attempting to soften her voice. “She’s been to the hospital dozens of times, Charlie, you know that.”

“Well, not for brain surgery!” Charlie matched her tone. 

“Don’t yell at me,” The woman snapped. “I just got off a plane, after traveling for hours, because my daughter was in a car _accident.”_

____

____

Charlie didn’t respond, so Becca opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times and the woman noticed. She was pretty, with brown hair the same color as Bella Swan’s. 

“Oh, honey,” the woman cooed, flitting to the bed. “You’re awake! How do you feel?” 

Becca stretched. Remarkably normal. “Fine. What time is it?” 

The woman, who Becca guessed what Bella’s mother, continued to pat every part of Becca’s body as if checking for damages. 

Charlie called for the nurse from the door, then glanced at his watch. “Just after six. You’ve been sleeping for about four hours. Dr. Cullen said you can go home after he checks you one more time. We’re supposed to have the nurse page him when you wake up.” 

It was the next day already? Becca glanced towards the window. The sun had already gone down. The windowsill was covered with gifts. A half dozen flowers, at least. One of them stood out from all the rest—a large, baby blue basket filled with lilies and several gifts wrapped in lilac-colored paper. There were silver ribbons around each wrapped gift. Becca could count five of them, just from the bed. 

“What is all that?” she frowned. 

Charlie sighed. “It was, maybe, spread around the town that you had…brain surgery. Your friends felt bad.” 

“Dad!” she groaned. “It wasn’t brain surgery. It was just an examination.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to respectfully disagree, Miss Swan,” Dr. Cullen said, as he appeared in the doorway. He knocked at the doorframe, smiling at her.

Charlie’s eyes lit up at the sight of Carlisle. He glanced back at Bella. “You know, Bells, you’re really lucky Dr. Cullen could even check your shunt. He did his residency in neurosurgery.” 

Becca narrowed her eyes at Dr. Cullen. She was tired of being told she was lucky. If he was going around telling people he did his residency in neurosurgery, of all things, then why the hell did people believe he was working in the godforsaken town of Forks out of the goodness of his heart? 

But Dr. Cullen didn’t notice her pointed glare. Either that or he ignored it. “How are you feeling?” 

“Completely normal,” she answered, watching him closely as he walked towards her. “Am I good to go?” 

“That depends,” he said, pressing on Becca’s temples. Bella’s mother seemed starstruck by his appearance; she hovered next to Charlie, eyes wide like a child’s. “How’s your head? Do you want me to prescribe you something for the pain?” 

“Just some alprazolam,” she joked. “Or maybe clonazepam. Diazepam?” 

Dr. Cullen frowned. He sat down on the edge of her bed. “Do you have anxiety problems, Miss Swan?” 

Becca’s heart stuttered. This was the second slip up she'd made around a Cullen. Normal teenagers didn’t know the medicinal names of benzodiazepines. Normal people didn’t even know the official names of benzos. 

“No,” Charlie answered when Becca didn’t, glaring at her. “She doesn’t.” 

But Dr. Cullen didn’t seem convinced. He continued to stare at Becca, his eyebrows knitted in concern. 

After a moment, Becca sighed. “It was a joke,” she admitted. “But not a funny one, apparently.” 

There was a beat of awkward silence. Finally, Dr. Cullen stood up. “Well, your vitals look good. Your scans look good. You can go home. Take some ibuprofen if your head hurts. Call us if anything feels wrong.” 

He shook Charlie’s hand, nodded at Bella’s mom, and smiled at Becca. 

Then he was gone. 

Becca sighed, relieved, and covered her eyes with her arm. Her stomach growled. “Can we go home now? I’m really hungry.” 

“I’ll bring the car around,” Charlie offered. “You go ahead and get dressed.” 

Before Becca could do as he’d said, Bella’s mom sat behind her on the bed as soon as he left the room and put her arms around Becca. “I was so worried, Bella.” 

Becca hugged her. She patted her on the back. “I’m alright. It’s the ice that’s so dangerous. They really should salt the roads,” she frowned. 

The woman pulled back and took Becca’s face in her hands. “Maybe this is a sign, sweetie. You should come back with me to Florida.” 

For a moment, it was tempting. Becca missed the East Coast. The time zone, the weather, the sun. But she truly wasn’t sure of the parameters of this world. It appeared to be following the timeline of the Twilight universe, at least to an extent. If that was the case, she wasn’t sure what would happen if she left Forks to go to the other side of the country. Perhaps she would have to live out Bella Swan’s life, at least until the time when Bella turned into a vampire. Except Becca wouldn’t do that. Becca would do something much more normal instead. She’d go off to college. A good college. Maybe even Stanford! The Cullens could help her get accepted to Stanford. Or Berkeley. 

Unless of course, she came into a lot of money and could just go off and travel the world. 

The Cullens were her best option. She supposed, at this point, she could feign an injury and blackmail Carlisle. 

“I like it here,” Becca told Bella’s mom finally. “I’ve made some friends already. They’re really nice kids. And I’d like to spend some time with Charlie.” 

Bella’s mom frowned. “You don’t miss me, do you?” 

Becca sighed. This woman was making her feel guilty and she didn't even know her. But Becca also knew, just being around her for a few minutes, that she would actually go insane if she had to live with her. Charlie was much easier. There was something about Bella's mom that was vaguely irritating. 

“Of course, I miss you,” Becca assured her. “But I’ll be going off to college soon, and I want to spend some time with Charlie.” 

“College!” Bella’s mom choked. Her eyes were full of tears. She put her arm around Becca and kept it there until Charlie returned, repeatedly telling her how much she loved and missed her. 

Charlie watched them for a moment, then shook his head—the woman’s eyes filled with even more tears at his nonchalance, openly sobbing. Charlie caught Becca’s eye. “I thought I told you to get dressed, kid.” He picked up the largest basket on the windowsill. He stumbled under the weight of it, and Becca wondered just what was inside. “Come on, Renee. Let’s load these into the car and let Bella get dressed.” 

Charlie had to tug her hand three times to get her to let go of Bella, and another two to get her to stand up. 

“Come on,” Charlie muttered. “She’ll still be right here when we come back.” 

Renee whimpered and picked up one of the bouquets of flowers. Red roses, by the looks of them. Becca wondered if they were from Mike Newton. 

Through Charlie’s design, they stacked everything together, so that they were able to leave, both of their arms filled, though Charlie was carrying considerably more. Becca got out of the bed once they were making their way down the hall and shut the door. 

Her body felt stiff, but not at all sore. She picked up the plastic bag on top of the table in the corner and rifled through it. The clothes inside were brand new, complete with tags. She pulled them out—a loose multi-colored, crocheted, French-style sweater that was more herself than anything Bella Swan owned, clean underwear, a tank top. Becca nearly got tears in her eyes when she pulled out the last item: a pair of high-waisted, light-colored, skinny jeans. Becca was quickly getting tired of the low-cut flared variety that everyone wore here. 

She wondered, in the back of her mind, who had brought the clothes. Definitely not Charlie. Renee, perhaps? 

Shaking her head, she shouldered her backpack and double-checked the room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything. From the window, she could see Charlie’s cruiser out front, waiting for her, in the emergency lane. 

As she exited the room, it all came back to her again. She had Bella Swan’s body, but her own brain, both physical and mental. The physical part made sense, if she was logical about it, your personality and everything that made you who you were was all controlled by your frontal lobe. Even your thoughts, feelings, emotions, were all controlled by the frontal lobe. If Becca wasn’t acting like Bella Swan, then physically, something had to be different. 

But yet, why had so many of her problems gone away? 

The hallway was mostly empty, and Becca took the elevator down to the first floor completely alone. She recognized that Pachelbel’s canon was playing as she read over the map of the hospital in the elevator--it was only two floors. 

Edward Cullen was in the lobby. Becca almost felt as if she’d expected him, He was leaning against a column, so completely natural that it was as if he belonged there. His clothing was even nicer than usual—a blue button-down folded to reveal his forearms, tight black jeans, dark brown leather shoes that Becca knew from the stitching on the side cost hundreds of dollars. He was worried, though, that much was obvious from his countenance. 

Perhaps even a bit guilty. 

But Becca wasn’t quite sure about the second part. Edward’s eyes found hers before she found his, and she walked towards him, as if that too, was the most natural thing in the world. 

The lobby was empty, save for an older receptionist who was sitting at the front desk. 

Becca walked until she was directly in front of Edward and stopped, just a foot away. She had to crane her head up to look at him. At her real height of 5’2, Becca was used to staring up at people, but Edward was taller than she expected. 

Yet…if Becca had her own brain, did that mean Edward could read her thoughts? 

She searched his face for any sort of recognition. There was none. Either that, or he was very good at remaining neutral. That was probably accurate, too. They stared at each other for a long while, his light eyes searching her brown ones, neither of them uttering even just one word. 

“Bella, come on,” Charlie called, standing in the entrance. Renee was already in the passenger seat. Becca could see her through the window; she was tearfully staring at Becca as if she was going to run away any moment. “I thought you were hungry?” 

Becca glanced over at Charlie. “Give me one minute.” 

She looked back at Edward. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, once she heard the hospital door close and knew that Charlie was outside again. 

Edward furrowed his brows, puzzled. He couldn’t read her mind, then. “For what?” 

Becca searched his eyes one more time. She thought as many curse words as she could, as many offensive insults she could come up with, making sure he couldn’t hear them. When the confusion didn't leave his eyes, she was satisfied. 

“You know for what.” 

Then she turned on her heel and got into the back of Charlie’s car, behind the barrier, leaving Edward Cullen staring after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate it :) 
> 
> You know what I realized reading this corresponding chapter of Twilight? Bella gets an x-ray after she hits her head on the ice. But x-rays wouldn't show them anything they most things they would have needed to know from that *injury*. They don't show concussions...or brain bleeds...LOL. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope nothing was too confusing in this chapter. It will all be revealed later, I promise! Sorry if it's choppy, I'm going to ride out this writing wave for as long as it lasts. Now to do literally everything I've avoided today by writing this--I guess working from home is good for some things :) 
> 
> Stay safe out there!!


	4. Invitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finallyyyy, we are over 20k words! This chapter is a little longer than usual--enjoy! :)

The next day was better. 

The accident had happened on a Wednesday, so she skipped school on Thursday and Friday. Jessica dutifully came by both afternoons to give her the work she had missed so that she wouldn’t get too behind. Becca eagerly waited for these four o’clock hangout sessions, just so that the boredom would disappear. Unsurprisingly, Renee had left for Florida again on Thursday morning—Becca didn’t need her social work degree to tell her that the woman was not the most responsible mother. But her leaving meant that all day, Becca was completely alone, unfortunately. 

The day, consequently, was also worse. 

She had way too much time to think. What was that saying? An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. 

The daytime TV was filled with either archaic game shows or soap operas, and the only books Bella owned were either classics or obscure science fiction, neither of which Becca was particularly fond of. And the internet on that monstrous computer was slower than the internet on her first Motorola Razr back in 2010. She couldn’t look up anything without waiting several minutes for the search page to register, and then another several moments while she waited for any website that she clicked on to even load. 

There was no Netflix. No Youtube. No Hulu. How had Becca never realized quite how much technology was ingrained in her life? 

So, she sat on the bed, which she continued to make each morning because it was good for her mental health. Sometimes she wrote things down about Twilight that she remembered, and thought might be important for the future, but those revelations were far and few. It had been so long since she’d seen any of the movies, and even longer since she’d read the books. 

Becca doubted that most of it would make sense, anyway. She was almost positive that she was going to have to learn the new rules of this reality. 

It did seem that her initial line of thinking might be moot. She could get hurt in this reality, so she could probably die, too. But was she worried about that? _Should _she be worried about that?__

__Charlie was acting weird, too. He was skittish around her, often skeptical, and seemed to watch her more than usual, almost as if he was afraid she was going to disappear without him knowing. Becca feared he’d figured out that she wasn’t his real daughter, but she found the real motivations for his behavior when she caught him rifling through her bag of toiletries in the bathroom when he thought that she was still downstairs one evening._ _

__She was certain it would have both embarrassed and angered Bella Swan to see her father digging through her belongings, through her deodorant, tampons, and toothpaste, but Becca wasn’t bothered. Primarily because she had no real relation to Charlie Swan, but also because the moment she saw him digging through the bag, it clicked for her why he was acting so strange._ _

__He thought she was on drugs. Her joke to Carlisle had set him off._ _

__“Dad,” she said calmly, folding her arms over her chest to give the illusion of being upset. “What are you doing?”_ _

__Charlie whirled around, dropping a hairclip he’d been holding on the ground. It clinked against the linoleum and both of them stared down at it. Charlie’s eyes were wide, frozen, scared. He was worried about her reaction._ _

__Becca stared at him for a few moments, giving him time to think about how he was doing the wrong thing. Then, she sighed and gave him a small smile._ _

__“I’m not on drugs, Dad. I only knew the names of those pills because I took a nursing class…back in Phoenix. I thought Carlisle would find it funny and I was, you know, trying to impress him.” She kept her eyes trained on the floor. “You know, because I think he’s attractive.”_ _

__When she finally looked back up at Charlie, his face was bright red._ _

__After detonating that situation before it could explode, Becca went back into her room, proud of herself for feigning that embarrassment._ _

__It was getting easier to act like a seventeen-year-old._ _

__Or so she thought._ _

* * *

__It was exactly one day later, a little over twenty-four hours of suffering alone with her thoughts, when Becca concluded that it was an absolute necessity for her to make actual, sustainable friends, especially since she had no clue how long she was stuck in this world._ _

__“What’s that?” Jessica asked on Friday afternoon, pointing at the baby blue wicker basket on the floor in the corner. The other gifts—two of the bouquets were already dying due to lack of water—had obscured it from Becca’s sight._ _

__Becca frowned. “I don’t know. Someone left it at the hospital.”_ _

__“Who?” She glared at Becca suspiciously. Though her tone was accusative, her eyes were worried. “Do you think it was Mike?”_ _

__Becca rolled her eyes. As if Mike could be that thoughtful. Besides, he’d bought her the red roses. “It’s not from Mike.”_ _

__She got up and crossed the room, shoving the three bouquets, and the lilies from the basket, gently onto the floor. Becca grimaced under the weight of the basket—it had to weigh at least thirty pounds—and set it on the bed next to Jessica. “Let’s open them together.”_ _

__Jessica continued to frown. Becca reasoned that she was probably jealous; it was, unfortunately, a common tendency of Jessica’s, due to her insecurities. But right then, Becca didn’t have the energy nor the will to help the other girl combat it. She herself had suddenly become very curious about what was wrapped up in those five boxes. They were of varying sizes, two large, three small—each rectangular, though. The wrapping was professional, all lilac with silver ribbons._ _

__“Here,” Becca said, handing Jessica one of the smaller ones. “You can open this one.”_ _

__Jessica continued to frown but took it from her. Becca watched as Jessica delicately took off the ribbon, then began to peel away the paper, tape by tape._ _

__Jessica’s frown deepened, tilting her head. “Are these…cookies?”_ _

__It was a glass Tupperware of, what it looked like at least, homemade macarons. Blue, pink, purple, green. Twelve of them._ _

__“Kind of,” Becca said. She was also confused. “They’re called macarons. They’re French.”_ _

__Jessica was enthralled by the adjective _French _and insisted that Becca let her try one. Becca wasn’t in the habit of disappointing people, and she quite wanted one herself, so she allowed it.___ _

____While Jessica took one of the pink ones, Becca also took one for herself—green, because she knew it was pistachio and was certain that she’d like it. She closed her eyes as she bit into it. It was delicate, soft, and melted in her mouth. It was the best macaron she had ever tasted, and she’d bought them off the streets of Nice when she studied abroad. Airy and delicious and, if she tilted her head just right, she was walking down cobblestone streets in the summer, the sun beating down at her, her blue skirt flaring out in the wind._ _ _ _

____“This is _really _good!” Jessica exclaimed, staring down at the crumbled pastry in her hand in wonder. “How many calories do you think this is?”___ _ _ _

______Becca opened her eyes and frowned at the petite, curly-haired girl. She knew that eating disorders began to spike in the early 2000s, due to the emergence of the internet and social media. What was the social media website before Facebook? Photobucket? Yahoo answers? _Myspace.__ _ _ _ _ _

________“You know, Jessica, you can enjoy things without worrying about the repercussions.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What?” Jessica narrowed her eyes, pink-colored crumbs stuck on her lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You can eat the macaron and not have to worry about what’s in it,” she shrugged. “You don’t have to have a reason to do things that make you happy. Besides,” she said, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “It’s Friday. Calories don’t count.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________After a beat, Jessica swallowed and frowned back at her. “You know, Bella, sometimes you feel like my mom.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Becca’s smile faded. What exactly did that mean? She shrugged it off and reached into the basket and pulled out one of the larger boxes and handed it over to Becca. She had to use both hands, and for the life of her, Becca could not even begin to suspect what was inside of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Unlike Jessica, she ripped the package open in two swipes. Maybe that would show Jessica that she wasn’t her mom._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Becca stared down at the cover; her eyes wide. She knew exactly who this basket was from, though she knew she really shouldn’t have had to wonder at all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________THE RED BOOK: LIBER NOVUS_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Jessica made a sound of disgust. “What is that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Becca stroked the cover. It was smooth and cold to the touch; she’d wanted one of these forever. It was always too expensive for her to justify spending money on the edition, and she’d never needed it for any of her classes. If she was going to spend two hundred and fifty dollars on something, it was going to be something good. Like a Target shopping spree, or the Harry Styles: Love on Tour tickets she’d splurged on before the pandemic had rendered them useless. Later she’d buy the book, she always promised herself, when you marry rich and don’t have to spend your own money._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________What a joke._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“It’s a book,” Becca whispered when Jessica sighed impatiently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Well, it looks demonic. Who is CG Jung, anyway?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“A very important psychologist,” Becca answered, not taking her eyes off of the cover. “And it’s pronounced like ‘young.’”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________As Becca perused the pages of the book, she allowed Jessica to open the rest of the gifts. She was much too enamored with the beauty and secrets within these pages. There were so many beautiful drawings, done by Carl Jung himself; several passages were written in his own personal calligraphy (though she couldn’t read them—she didn’t speak German). It was Carl Jung’s personal psychological and spiritual journey through life. There was simply nothing better in the world that she could have been given, and yet Becca herself would have never thought to ask for it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Now her time in Forks was sure to be a vacation. She was from all the problems of her real-life; she could deal with Bella Swan’s problems without even blinking. Now, she would do the high school thing and come back and spend the rest of her time reading all about Carl Jung’s personal life. Maybe she could write her own when this was all over. She was planning to get a doctorate at some point._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Bella…” Jessica sighed. She heaved the last package, half-open, over the basket. “You have more books from that Jung guy.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“’Young,’” Becca reminded her. She gently set the other book to the side to examine these. Then her mouth fell open._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He bought her _The Black Books _too?!___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Becca was overwhelmed. She was going to need to spend the rest of her _life _in this alternate universe if she had any hope of actually reading these books the proper attention that Carl Jung deserved.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Jessica fell back onto Bella’s bed, covering her face with her arm. “Whoever gave you this has awful taste in gifts. They gave you nothing good. Except for those macarons.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Becca ran her hands over the collection. Combined, they were nearly 2000 pages. It was as if Edward Cullen knew how bored she was in this world._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Wait a second, _did_ he know how bored she was? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“And you still don’t know who gave this to you?” Jessica asked when Becca didn’t respond. “Not a clue? I mean who, like, gives you psychology books, macarons, some pens, and… a leather journal,” she said, rolling her eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Becca furrowed her eyebrows and snatched the journal from her. It was deep brown, most definitely real leather—though she wasn’t sure whether to beat him over the head for supporting the industry or be glad _she _wasn’t his industry. She flipped it open, being careful not to crease it, and found that on the first page, there was a note inscribed in perfect script.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________\- Bella, I hope this journal inspires you as it once did Carl Jung. This is an archetype of the original he used in the third volume of the Black Books. -__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________There was no signature._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________When Becca still didn’t respond, Jessica groaned and sat up. “I’m bored. Do you want to get food?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Becca didn’t want to leave her books, but Jessica was being particularly whiny which usually meant that something was bothering her. She’d figured that out after only three days with the girl. Becca ran her fingers over the binding once more, then got up and gently placed them on top of the dresser. A part of her knew she was going to savor them anyway, so there was no reason to rush through them. She’d have all of the weekend before school to look them over, anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________She followed Jessica out into the perpetual drizzle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

* * *

___________________Becca spent all of the weekend pouring over the Jung books. She’d begun taking notes on them, too, missing her iPad back home dreadfully. How long until iPods were a thing in this universe? Was the first iPod touch already released? One of these days she was going to have to go to the bank and find out just how much money Bella Swan had. She was positive it wasn’t a lot, but she definitely needed things. Like better clothing. And a way to play music that wasn’t a bulky stereo._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Angela apologized for what had happened with Tyler’s van profusely when she picked Becca up on Monday morning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“It’s not your fault,” Becca promised for the fourth time as Angela pulled into the parking lot. A parking spot that was much further from the one the fiasco had happened in—coincidentally, one that was only two spots away from the silver Volvo. “Besides, the snow is gone for the year!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“Hopefully,” Angela agreed, looking a little unsure. She turned the engine off in the silver accord her family had been given by the insurance company until the dent from Tyler’s van was out of their car. “It’s only February, though.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“That’s right,” Becca murmured, blinking. She’d been in this universe for a few weeks now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________She stared ahead as they walked towards the school. The rain was light today, and thus several students were loitering near the cars, laughing and gossiping. Jessica was waiting for them just outside the cafeteria. Her hair was different than usual—straight instead of curly—and she’d done very heavy eye makeup. Becca still found it deplorable that so many people, particularly teenagers, wore such heavy eyeliner here._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Perhaps she was mostly upset because Bella Swan didn’t even own chapstick._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“Bella, can I ask you something?” Jessica asked, falling into step between her and Angela. Her hands were knitted in front of her and she played with her fingers, seeming nervous about whatever she was about to say._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“Sure,” Becca granted._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Jessica paused, glanced around them to make sure no one was in earshot, then leaned in and whispered, “Are you going to ask Mike to the dance?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Becca blinked; Angela’s forehead creased._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“The dance?” Becca asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“Yeah, you know…the girls’ choice spring dance. It’s in three weeks.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Becca hummed. Angela held the door as they walked into the quiet hallway of the cafeteria building, towards the vending machines. Becca had once enjoyed dances, her freshman and sophomore years of high school, respectively. But she quickly discovered that they were overrated and boring. Her own senior prom night had been particularly disastrous—she’d gotten stood up by her date and spent the night sulking in the corner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“No, I’m not going to the dance,” she answered confidently, even though this was the first she’d heard of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________They were beside the vending machines now. Angela bent forward to get a Pepsi, after being assured by both Becca and Jessica that they didn’t want anything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“It’ll be really fun,” Jessica pressed, but her tone was anything but enthusiastic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________“ _You’ll _have fun with Mike,” Becca said, smiling. Even though she was going to have to be a teenager in this reality, there were many, many things she’d rather do than go to a dance. Like reading her new Jungian literature, for instance.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Jessica searched Becca’s eyes for any sign of a lie, then bounded off to find Mike Newton. After a few moments, Angela and Becca left the building and walked towards their English class._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________The drizzle had increased, and the two girls pulled their hoods up in unison._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“You don’t like dances?” Angela asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“They give me a headache. All that perfume and alcohol,” Becca grimaced. “It’s like a Bath & Body Works store.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Angela laughed. “I’ve never been to one. Are they bad?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Just a lot of different scents surrounding you all at once,” she shuddered for humor. “Are you going to the dance?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Angela was quiet. Becca held the door for them open this time, and Angela didn’t speak until they were seated at their desks in the middle of the classroom._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Maybe,” she shrugged. “I’m not really interested in anyone enough to ask.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca suspected by the way Angela’s cheeks flushed that this was a lie, but she knew that Angela was reserved, so she didn’t push it._____________________

* * *

_____ _

___When Becca saw Jessica in trigonometry, Jessica was silent and didn’t mention her ambitions to ask Mike from earlier. Consequently, Becca decided not to ask. Together they complained of the upcoming unit test instead, and Jessica bitched about her old best friend Lauren, who had started some rumor about Jessica. Becca had to admit that if there were any students at the school that she had developed a dislike for, it was Lauren. Lauren reminded Becca of her own high school bullies—an impressive feat, considering Becca hadn’t seen them in nearly a decade.___  
  


There was something about her that was conniving. Becca liked to live by Abraham Lincoln’s words that he’d never met a person he didn’t like, but Becca found it more difficult than usual with Lauren.

_____________________It also became more obvious over the course of the day that the conversation between Jessica and Mike had not gone well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________At lunch, Jessica sat at the other end of the table from Mike, discussing the homework for her other classes with Eric louder than needed. Usually, she sat in between Becca and Mike, being sure to inform Mike of just about every thought that popped into her head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Mike also didn’t say a word the entire hour, and not even as he walked with Becca to biology. Edward was already there, but Becca ignored him. How much of a coward was he to not even sign his name on the basket of gifts he’d given her?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“So,” Mike said, sitting on the corner of the lab table. He kept his eyes well away from Becca’s. He glanced over his shoulder at Edward who was involved with taking notes on something, but then he looked away and stared down at his hands. “Jessica asked me to the spring dance.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“That’s amazing,” Becca cheered. She was more worried about Mike’s answer than ever._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Well…” he couldn’t seem to find the right words. “I kind of told her that I needed to think about that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca wanted to roll her eyes, but now Mike was looking straight at her, examining her expression with clear interest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Why?” She demanded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________His face turned bright red. There were way too many white people in this town, Becca thought absentmindedly. The movies had made it seem somewhat diverse, but Becca had noticed how homogenous it was the moment she’d stepped into the school. She wondered if the cities were better—her own city of Trenton was made of up many different ethnicities._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“I was wondering if…well, if you wanted to ask me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca sighed. Boys, especially of the teenage variety, were so damn annoying. That much didn’t change whether she was Becca Fitzgerald or Bella Swan. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Edward’s head tilted towards her, as if he too, was waiting for her answer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Mike,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing. “You need to tell Jessica yes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________His eyes narrowed. “Did you already ask someone?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“No,” she answered. “I’m not going to the dance.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Why not?” he demanded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca’s eyes flashed; even she was momentarily stunned by the sudden anger. “Not that it’s your business, Mike, but I hate dances.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Why?” he asked again, frowning as if it was an absolute abomination that she would have anything better to do than go to a dance in an ugly cafeteria._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca did roll her eyes this time. “There are just many, many other things I’d much rather spend my time doing than going to a high school dance.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Mike stared at her; his forehead creased. “Well, in that case, if you wanted…I could come over. We could hang out together.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca groaned. Were teenagers always this audacious in the 2000s? She shook her head, trying to think of the first excuse she could come up with. “Sorry, but I’m going to Phoenix to visit my mom. I couldn’t go to the dance if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________He looked like he wanted to argue with her again, but he saw the weight of her glare, so he mumbled something incoherent and trudged back to his seat, clearly dejected._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca slid down in her seat, crossing her arms. This week, it seemed, by the looks of it, was going to take all of her patience to get through._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________And she’d thought the accident last Wednesday was bad._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________She could feel Edward’s eyes on her. Becca didn’t turn to look at him, though, keeping her eyes on the black of the table, or the occasional glance up at Mr. Banner. Several minutes went by as Mr. Banner droned on and on about meiosis. Becca kept her stance, not bothering to take out her notebook._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“I thought she lived in Florida,” Edward said to her quietly, while Mr. Banner had turned around to draw a diagram on the board._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“What?” Becca said, frowning. She met his gaze. His eyes were as light as usual, maybe even lighter, though she couldn’t see if she was biased seeing as she hadn’t seen him in a while. She hadn’t spoken to him since the hospital. It was also true that she should probably thank him for the gifts, but Mike Newton had already angered her beyond reparations today. She was limited in her ability to deal with men._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Your mother. Doesn’t she live in Florida? My father mentioned her last Wednesday.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca narrowed her lives. “Isn’t that, like, against HIPAA for him to tell you about me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________He stared at her without speaking, eyebrows raised. So, she stared back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Mr. Cullen?” the teacher called, seeking an answer to a question Becca hadn’t heard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“The Krebs Cycle,” Edward answered, turning to look at Mr. Banner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca looked away and down at the table. She crossed her arms and rested her head upon them, ignoring him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Why had Mike asking her to the dance bothered her so much? And why couldn’t she figure out why it bothered her? Her memories from her real-life were becoming more and more disjointed, and she was having a lot of difficulties thinking about them. Was she going insane? It was almost as if her life was one that she’d read in a novel years ago. She tried to find a memory that centered her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Bennet, her baby brother. He liked biology. He was obsessed with biology, actually. His birthday was March 11th, and he would be eleven years old. His entire room was covered in jars of insects he caught and tried to raise: worms, ants, flies, and beetles. Becca was certain that eventually he would go on and become some sort of researcher, maybe focusing on animal physiology or the like. She’d spent much of the pandemic helping him with his schoolwork. If she thought about him enough, she wouldn’t lose her mind. She was certain of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________His messy, dark curly hair, his dimples, the ugly camouflage sweater he insisted on wearing, even when it was warm enough outside to wear short sleeves. His insect collection and the godawful smell of his room from the buildup of whatever food he always forgot to take the kitchen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Bella?” Edward asked, moments after the bell rang._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Becca turned to face him warily, surprised he hadn’t sprinted away from her already. Everyone else was packing up, in a hurry. Conversations were flowing through the room, about the dance, about the trailer for a new James Bond movie, about some sort of gossip she hadn’t yet heard. Becca was taking her time because she didn’t think she could deal with walking to the gym with Mike Newton today._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“What?” she frowned at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike leave the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Are you alright?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“ _What? _” she blinked, questioning him again.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“You seem to be rather preoccupied with your thoughts. I know the feeling.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Becca stared back at him, suspicious now. Paranoia rose inside of her. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be honest.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________She searched his eyes. She’d convinced herself that his beauty, his entire family’s beauty, was nothing more than a fraud, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep her train of thought. Especially when she was this annoyed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Edward nodded his consent._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Can you read my mind?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Multiple emotions flickered across his face. His eyebrows raised in shock, then lowered in confusion. His eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed in suspicion. His lips turned into an even deeper frown. He must have been working hard to keep his face smooth because, after a few seconds, his expression was neutral._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“No,” he admitted, looking directly into her eyes. “I can’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________She tilted her head, attempting to settle him with the no-nonsense look she often gave the kids she worked with, particularly Delilah, who could be very difficult. Becca had no way of knowing if it conveyed the same weight with Bella’s expression as it did hers, but she hoped it held him just the same. “Are you lying?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“No,” he answered, after another pause. “I cannot read your mind.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“You swear?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“I swear,” he answered solemnly. Becca searched his eyes again, looking for even an ounce of a reason to distrust him. She remembered Edward Cullen had been an exceptionally good liar. Not that trusted most men to tell the truth, anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Mr. Banner cleared his throat. Becca glanced at the front of the room, but Edward continued to stare at her face, his eyebrows knit in confusion again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Get to class, Miss Swan, Mr. Cullen. If you’re still here when the next bell rings, I’ll write you a detention myself. This is my planning period.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Becca got out of her seat at once, lifting her backpack onto her shoulders. Edward was right behind her. He didn’t have a backpack, she noticed. He tucked his biology book under his arm. Did any of the Cullens have bags? She’d have to check._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Bella,” he said quietly but evenly, once they were in the hallway. There was a student here or there, dragging their feet towards a classroom, but all of them was out of earshot. Mr. Banner slammed his classroom door and Becca flinched. “Why did you ask if I could read your mind?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________His tone was calm, but Becca could tell that he himself was anything but._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________She started walking towards the gym, leaving the science hallway altogether and heading outside. It was somehow colder than it had been in the morning, and she wrapped her arms around her in annoyance. At least it wasn’t raining again yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________The two of them were completely alone outside—everyone was inside their classrooms, too bothered by the cold to wait around outside for the bell to ring._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Bella,” Edward said again when she didn’t respond, keeping up with her pace easily. “Why?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Why what?” she muttered under her breath. Becca didn’t have the energy nor the time to explain this to him. She had to admit that it probably hadn’t been the brightest idea to ask him that yet. She wasn’t sure how to cover this up now—she hadn’t formulated a plan yet for what she should do. She was still hoping that those Carl Jung books would indirectly give her some sort of insight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Edward put a hand on her arm, forcing her to stop walking. She whirled around to face him, her anger rising quickly, just as it had with Mike._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Tell me,” he said before she could, staring down at her. “Why did you ask me if I could read your mind?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________No, she decided, it wasn’t just that it hadn't been bright of her to ask him that—it had been exceptionally stupid of her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________And Becca Fitzgerald wasn’t stupid._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________She tried to move away from him, but he was too strong. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but she narrowed her eyes at him, anyway. “Let me go, Edward.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Answer me first.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Becca glared at him. “You know, this could really be considered assault.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He rolled his eyes but moved his hand. “Please just tell me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Not now, Edward. You’re going to make me late. And I’ve been told if I don’t participate in gym again, I’ll get detention. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she tried to rush off again, but he caught her arm once again. “I’m not even sure if there’s anything to tell!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________“Won’t you _please _tell me?” he questioned, staring deeply into her eyes. Becca had to blink several times to keep from losing her train of thought. She sighed. Perhaps she had been slightly incorrect to think that the Cullen family’s beauty was a fraud. She glanced away from him; at least she knew for certain now that he couldn’t read her mind.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Becca bit her lip, looking away, debating on what to say to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The bell rang moments after that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Shit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Her eyes widened. She really didn’t want a detention—what would they even do in Forks High School for detention? Make her calculate the region’s yearly rainfall? It wasn’t like they could do much else. She was the Chief’s daughter, so capital punishment was out. She began jogging in the direction of the gym, brainstorming excuses she could give Coach Clapp. If she kept telling him that she had cramps, he would eventually stop believing her. It wasn’t like the early 2000s were the frontrunner of the Women’s Movement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________But Edward kept pace with her. When she reached the outside door to the gym, he stood off to the side, his hand firmly holding both double doors closed at once._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Becca glared at him. What would it feel like if she kicked him in the balls? Would he even feel it? Most importantly, would _she?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________“You are so annoying,” she commented._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________“Please, Bella,” he pleaded. “This is important.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Becca pursed her lips. “And _you’re_ extremely desperate, apparently.” ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________He frowned at her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________She sighed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________“Is it actually that important, Edward?” she questioned. “You know, you might have gotten away with your freaky deeky superpower if you hadn’t pressed this so far. Now, I know that I’m correct. I always thought the telepathy was sort of a stretch; it always felt a bit out of place to me, if I’m being honest. There are too many other fantastical elements. But now you’ve gone and made this into such a big deal that I know I’m right. You’ve proven it yourself. Congratulations—way to downplay it. Aren’t you supposed to be incredibly intelligent?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________Her tone was sour. His face was blank._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________“Fantastical,” he repeated flatly. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” she groaned, banging her head against the door. “Are you serious? I’m not talking about this with you any longer. Some of us have things to do today.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________Edward continued to stare at her. She couldn’t quite determine his expression; it was likely he was refraining from showing her how he felt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________________“Now _move, _” Becca ordered, narrowing her eyes. “Before you get me in even more trouble, and I can’t go home and read the books that _you_ spent hundreds of dollars on.” ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________“Fine,” he replied finally, not bothering to refute his purchase of the books, and loosened his grip on the door. “But we’re talking about this later.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________Becca didn’t answer him as she pulled the door open, then jogged over to the other side of the gym where the class had already begun playing badminton. Mike, it seemed, already had a partner, thankfully._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________After Coach Clapp rolled his eyes but, nevertheless, accepted her lame excuse of being held back by Mr. Banner, Becca headed to the locker room to change._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________She was now considering her options and weighing them heavily. She could tell Edward Cullen the entire truth, but it was possible that telling him could have serious repercussions and unprecedented consequences. It was also probable that he could help her. Help her from what exactly she wasn’t entirely sure. But if he was a century-old man in a seventeen-year old’s body, he probably felt similar to how she did as a woman who was only a quarter of a century-old inside a seventeen-year old’s body._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________Finally, she smiled at herself in the mirror. If she was careful to compartmentalize it, after all, it was almost just as if she was inside some version of Freaky Friday._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________And that wasn’t exactly a bad place to be._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!!! I really appreciate it. :)
> 
> I apologize if anything is disjointed or if there are any glaring errors. As usual, feel free to call me out on them. I did my best to read and edit, but I wrote most of this yesterday which was a bit of a difficult day, what with the US Capitol being stormed in on and all. 
> 
> That being said, I hope everyone is as safe and healthy and sane as can be during these CRAZY times. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the blood typing chapter. Stay tuned! 😁


	5. Blood Type

Like a bad relationship, after a month and a half in Forks, the honeymoon phase wore off. It might have been the date that started it, but it was definitely the truck that carried it out. 

It was burnt orange, rather than rusty red. Every time Becca saw it outside of the window, it was a recurring reminder that she was stranded. Not that she particularly needed to go anywhere—there wasn’t anywhere to go—but she needed the option. 

All she wanted was a drive in her car, music blasting, and the time to think. 

Oh, how Becca missed driving. Or rather, the freedom of being able to just go. She knew that if she asked, any of the high schoolers would be willing to drive wherever she wanted to go. But there wasn’t even a McDonald’s here. 

Because driving wasn’t an option, after three days of not being able to sleep and waking up well before her alarm, Becca decided to do something about it. She braided her hair down her back, laced up the only sneakers that Bella Swan owned (the same white ones she wore for gym class), put a jacket over a hoodie, and walked into the woods behind Charlie’s house. 

It was so early that the sky was gray, and so cold that there weren’t any animals out. The air smelt fresh and clean, and it was drizzling faintly. She had no map of the area, and not the faintest idea where she was going. All she could do was walk down a faint path in the dirt and hope for the best. 

Just her alone with the trees, the soil, and her thoughts. 

She supposed that she missed having real responsibilities, too. 

Due to the nature of her work, she spent a lot of time on the road. She was a family social worker, so her schedule differed from day to day. More than once, she had been forced to drive a child in the dead of the night to a safe destination hours away or pick up various kids from school. Her case assignments varied in location, too. She was usually in the tri-state area, but there were times that she’d found herself as far north as Massachusetts, some sort of family-friendly playlist with squeaky voices blasting keeping her awake far better than caffeine ever could. 

But it was partly this lack of routine, the pleasure of doing something different every day, that kept her in the job. 

It wasn’t that Becca thought that the point of her life was to be a social worker—working with those kids was exhausting, tiring, alarming, and, quite often, disturbing work. She felt hopeless a dozen times more than she ever felt successful. But every time that she had even thought about sending in a letter of resignation, she would meet a kid who reminded her of why she was doing the job. 

There were so many kids like that. The system, and the system’s system for that matter, was full of them. Children who could tell the funniest jokes, who had smiles so big it made you smile too, who were smarter than some of the adults Becca knew. Every single one of those kids, even the ones who were exceedingly difficult, deserved her very best. The goal wasn’t to do the impossible, her professors had reminded her in every class—the goal was to do what you could and not stress over things that that you couldn’t change. 

Becca sat down on a damp, fallen tree trunk and put her face in her hands. 

It was so easy to get lost in the mundane schedule of Bella Swan’s life. Wake up, go to school, do the homework, talk to Charlie, go to sleep. The work wasn’t challenging, but the comfort of doing the same tasks over and over again was what had drawn her in. 

But now that she was away from Charlie’s house, even by just a little over a quarter of a mile, she remembered how strange her situation was. 

She missed her life. She missed the thrill; the adrenaline racing through her veins as she drove to a particularly rough situation. She missed her siblings, her friends, her cat. And she missed iced coffee, which wasn’t yet a thing apparently. 

Becca felt the same hopelessness she did when helping kids in particularly bad situations. It started in the pit of her stomach, then spread all throughout her body. The anxiety became so overwhelming that she had to force herself to take several deep breaths. 

She wasn’t particularly good at anything else. 

Sure, she liked to think that she was brighter than the average person. But she had a B average for most of her time in university. She played no sports, could not play any instruments, and couldn’t even cook well. She wasn’t particularly talented at anything. She didn’t have any real hobbies besides driving around aimlessly, binging Netflix or Hulu, or scrolling social media. 

It turned out that, maybe, her job really was her life. 

And in this reality, she didn’t even have that job. 

How was she meant to survive here? How was she meant to feel happy when she had no goals, no purpose, no anything?

* * *

“Dad,” Becca said as she came back inside, her hair damp from the rain. He was seated at the table, coffee in front of him. “Do you know if there’s anywhere I could get a job here? Preferably with kids.”

Charlie blinked at her as she closed the door. “Bells, were you _hiking_? In the morning?” 

“Yeah,” she said, taking juice from the fridge and pouring it into a glass. She leaned against the counter. 

He stared at her. “Since when do you hike? Since when do you do any kind of exercise?” 

Becca shrugged. “It’s good for your mental health. Anyway, do you know any jobs?” 

Charlie’s forehead was creased, his brows knit together. He shook his head. “Why do you want a job? Do you need money?” 

She played with a granola bar on top of the counter. “Yeah. But mostly I just want something else to do and I miss being around kids.” 

His eyebrows raised and his forehead creased even more. “Now Bella, when you have ever been around kids?” 

Did Bella Swan not have any cousins? No family at all besides Charlie and Renee? Did she, honest to God, just spend all her time reading books? 

“I used to volunteer after school at a daycare in Phoenix,” she lied. “I really liked it. I think I might want to do something like that after college.” 

“Huh. Well, you've never mentioned that.” He blinked, then leaned back in the chair. 

She shrugged. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t forget that Forks is a small town,” he reminded her, looking at her over the top of his coffee cup as he drank from it. He swallowed. “This isn’t like the cities you’re used to.” 

As if she could forget. 

“I know,” she frowned. “I’m just trying to be happy here.” 

Charlie looked like she’d thrown a brick at him. “Well, there might be a couple of families who need babysitters. I’ll ask around at the station today. Is that what you mean?” 

It wasn’t really what Becca wanted, but it would be better than nothing. She suspected she’d have to be closer to the cities to do any of the work she was used to doing, anyway. Becca had a special certification in urban social work, but several of her professors in college had stressed to her that it was enough to do what you can, wherever you happened to be. As long as, of course, you were doing more good than harm. 

“You know, your friend Angela has twin brothers,” he said, looking back down at the paper in front of him. “Why don’t you ask her if the Webbers ever need a babysitter?” 

She sat across from him at the table. The two of them having breakfast together had become part of the routine. Becca actually really liked Charlie—which surprised her. She could tell that he just really cared about her wellbeing. Or, he cared about Bella Swan’s wellbeing, which consequently, was Becca’s wellbeing, too. 

And though Charlie didn’t have an extraordinary life by any means, he was genuinely happy, which made him pleasant to be around. 

Thus, as Becca became more and more unsettled, the more time she spent with Charlie.

* * *

As soon as Charlie left that morning and Becca was alone again, she headed upstairs to get ready for school. Her despair was quick to return, and it augmented throughout her shower, as she got dressed, and even as she got into Angela’s car. 

And Angela, like the good person she was, took Becca’s glumness as a result of her own. 

“I’m really sorry, Bella.” Angela apologized when they pulled up to the school. Becca had asked about her brothers as soon as she’d gotten into the car that morning. “I usually just watch my brothers. But I can ask around and see if any of their friends’ parents need a babysitter. You’re welcome to come over anytime you’d like and help me with Isaac and Joshua, though.” 

“It’s alright, Angela,” Becca answered. She herself had been designated babysitter her entire life growing up—her sister was only three years younger than her, but she’d been fourteen when her brother had been born, so she got it. “Really. Don’t worry about it! I’m going to stay here and finish my homework. I’ll see you at lunch.” 

Angela bit her lip. “Are you sure you’re okay, Bella?”

Becca smiled. “I’m just tired. It was a late night. The trig homework was rough.” 

Angela nodded sympathetically, told Becca to have a good day, and then disappeared into the school building. 

Becca pulled her legs up into the seat and stared out of the window. She was feeling more and more detached as the morning went on. If she was to diagnose herself, she knew that she was having an avoidance reaction to her situation. 

She felt like a balloon cut from a string, drifting upward. Lofty, untethered, lost.

* * *

Becca was very late to English class and Mr. Mason glared at her; she’d interrupted his lecture on Catherine and Heathcliff’s love. Upon entering, Becca wanted to annoy him even further and tell him that Heathcliff and Catherine’s love had been toxic, at best, but Becca just rolled her eyes when Mr. Mason couldn’t see. It was sickening—the number of things that these teachers worried about that didn’t really matter. Being late for class, going to the restroom, writing her name on a specific part of the paper. She often had to stop herself from challenging them by bringing up that several heinous acts against humanity had resulted from people who were way too concerned about trivial matters and just following orders. Becca couldn’t remember his name, but there had definitely been a Nazi officer who had declared he’d just been making sure the trains ran on time. 

Mike and Eric, who Becca liked considerably more than Newton, walked with her to her next class. 

Within seconds, the boys invited her on a trip to the beach. Becca frowned, wondering how to get out of it—she knew that if she told them that she didn’t have a ride, both of them would be all too eager to pick her up. But there was also no part of her that actually wanted to spend the day at a beach that was barely above freezing, either. She knew it would be better for her to get away from the avoidance habits she was quickly forming, but it was difficult to do when there was nothing even remotely appealing about the activities the kids here liked to do. 

And she did like the routine. It was a slippery slope, that routine. She often told adult clients that being negative was like that; the more negative you were, the more negative you wanted to be. The more reclused that Becca became, the more reclused she would want to be. 

Yet even Jessica noticed her negativity. 

She frowned at her as Becca took her seat beside her in trig. “Are you alright? You didn’t call me back last night. I left you two messages. I like, really needed to talk to you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Becca replied. She pulled her notebook out of her bag and opened it to a fresh page. Mr. Varner was busy sorting through papers at his desk, looking like a mad man from an earlier century. “I wasn’t feeling too well yesterday, so I went to sleep.” 

“But you didn’t call me back the day before either,” Jessica pointed out. She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention, then leaned in and whispered, “Are you depressed?” 

Becca snorted. It was the first time she’d cracked an honest smile all day. The contrast between mental health in the early 2000s and that of 2020 was almost comical. More than half of the people that Becca knew in her daily life back home were said to be depressed; half of that number made a point of talking about it to her. 

“No, Jess, I’m not depressed. But thanks for asking.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Just want to make sure you’re not going to off yourself or something,” she muttered. 

Becca frowned. But before she could speak, Mr. Varner started the class. Becca was grateful that Jessica didn't bring it up again. 

As they walked to the cafeteria after Spanish, Becca made a point to ask Jessica about Mike, who was by far the girl’s favorite topic. Jessica certainly didn’t seem to be too bothered by Becca’s decision to not attend the beach trip. 

“Hi,” Angela greeted them as she stepped into the lunchline, taking a tray. She smiled at them both. 

Jessica frowned in greeting, then continued ranting about her dad, who she brought up allegedly because she wanted Becca’s advice on how to talk to him. She and her dad had gotten into a fight the night before because Jessica wanted to get her belly button pierced. 

“It’s just that it’s my body, you know?” Jessica said, gesturing wildly as she put a piece of pizza on her tray. "Why should he have a say?"

Angela glanced at Becca, but Becca just shook her head. She felt it was better to just let Jessica rant for now. 

“I just don’t understand why he thinks he has some sort of control over what I can do. It’s sick,” Jessica muttered. Becca didn’t respond as she took her time picking out the best chicken nuggets from the metal serving dish in front of them. 

“Uh, Bella…” Angela said quietly. “Edward Cullen is walking towards you.” 

“What?” Becca turned so quickly that she caused a kink in her neck. She looked in the direction that Angela was pointing. Sure enough, his golden eyes were fastened on hers. Edward’s face was pleasant, but his appearance made Becca want to run away and hide. She hadn’t spoken to him since the confrontation outside of the gym; he’d tried, but she’d found a way out of it each time, making sure that she was surrounded by at least one other person at all times. 

Jessica scoffed in a mixture of disbelief and jealousy, but her face went blank as soon as Edward stood right next to them. 

“Hi, Bella. Angela, Jessica,” he said, greeting each of them. He’d stepped into the line as if he had been there all along. Normally the sophomore girls behind them—Becca hadn’t learned any of their names—would complain any time someone cut the line, but even they were staring up at Edward transfixed. 

“H-Hi,” Jessica stammered, her eyes wide. 

“Hello,” Angela returned, smiling. 

Becca just stared at him. 

Edward smiled at each of them and Becca thought for sure that Jessica might faint. Hell, maybe Angela too, judging from how wide her eyes had gotten. 

He leaned down so that he was just inches away from Becca. “I was wondering, Bella, if you would join me for lunch. We have a biology lab coming up today, and I’d like your help with the homework.” 

Jessica made a sound of disbelief, but no one looked at her. 

“It’s true,” Angela said to ease the silence when no one else spoke. She had biology second period. Angela held up her pointer finger, which had a dinosaur band-aid wrapped around it. “It’s the blood typing lab. We do it every year for the annual blood drive. My finger wouldn’t stop bleeding.” 

“Please,” Edward said, still staring at Becca. 

He smiled again, and then, without waiting for an answer, turned back around and headed to the opposite side of the room. All three of them watched as he sat down at an empty table in the corner, well away from the table he usually sat at with his siblings. 

Becca groaned. She knew what he wanted, and she definitely didn’t want to give him that. They hadn’t spoken since the day that Edward had cornered her outside and demanded an explanation. 

“I think he actually does want you to go sit with him,” Jessica told her in a stunned tone. While Becca and Angela had turned away, Jessica still hadn’t. 

“Well, he can sit by himself,” Becca quipped, thinking that he could probably hear her. “And do some self-reflection. It’ll be good for him.” 

“Go see what he wants,” Jessica ordered, then lowered her voice. “And then come back and tell us so that we can talk about it.” 

“He’s a nice guy,” Angela added, though she sounded unsure. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to him if you helped him." 

Becca rolled her eyes. She certainly had no intention of doing that, either. Nevertheless, once she’d paid for her food, she trudged across the room towards where he sat. 

Edward leaned across the table, his eyes wide and bright. “Won’t you sit with me?” 

Becca sat down, dumbfounded at her own actions. It didn’t make any sense how all he had to do was look at her and then she would nearly tell him whatever he wanted. Now she was doing what he said, too. 

Edward smiled at her again. He was wearing orange, and Becca was somewhat annoyed that he could pull the color off--she'd always wished that she could. Becca looked down at her food. Edward seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

“You’re not going to eat anything else for lunch?” he finally asked, watching her tear apart one of her chicken nuggets. 

“Forgot my lunch money,” she mumbled, feeling more childish than usual. It was partly true—she’d been too busy being in despair to remember to get it from Charlie. Becca glanced back up, staring at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes. “What do you want, Edward?” 

All around them conversations flowed freely. The laughter, shrieks, and stupid behavior that happened daily in the Forks high school cafeteria surrounded them. The only difference was that Becca was facing Edward so she couldn’t see the way that her entire table was staring at them.

Some of them, as in Mike’s case, angrier than others. 

“I still want an answer to the questions I asked you,” he said, leaning towards her again. His eyes seemed to glimmer under the fluorescents above. Could vampires in the Twilight universe compel people? Was that why Becca found herself so eager to answer him? 

Becca looked away, glaring at the floor. “And I told you that it was the fact that you made a big deal out of my question that confirmed it. This is your fault, not mine.” 

Edward sighed. “I would like to know the source of your questions, Bella. Not my answers.” 

Becca’s frown deepened. She slid back in her chair, crossing her arms, and refrained from looking at him. “It doesn’t really matter.” 

“It does, though,” he answered quickly. “Perhaps more than you can comprehend.” 

Becca was becoming increasingly frustrated by how attractive she found him. It felt wrong. Physically, he was the same age as some of the kids that she worked with. Yet mentally, he was even older than she was. She had the familiar feeling, deep in her belly, that she felt around anyone she’d ever had a crush on, even as an adult. 

His face, his features, his smell—it was all perfect. Too perfect, really. She wondered why the Cullens didn’t gain more attention than they already did. Any of them could have risen through the ranks of Hollywood, modeling, or honestly, with those sorts of faces, any career that they liked. And yet they all chose to spend their eternities in high school. 

Utterly ridiculous. 

There was a large clash across the room; some freshman had dropped his lunch tray. Boisterous laughter followed it. Becca turned her head out of habit, but Edward didn’t even stop looking at her. 

“Look, Edward…” she sighed, finally looking in his direction. “You know that I know, so it doesn’t really matter _how_ I know. Do you know Schrodinger’s thought experiment? Think of it like that. The cat’s in the box either way. You don’t want to open the box because you might kill it.” 

His expression was blank. “And if I don’t care about the cat?” 

She rolled her eyes. “You care about the cat.” 

He stared at her, his eyes searching hers. He was silent long enough for her to finish her lunch. After a few moments, he smiled. “I think you may have misunderstood Schrodinger.” 

“And I think you’re anxious,” she frowned, pushing the lunch tray away from her. “And possibly clinically depressed. What else is new?” 

Edward sighed. Becca ignored it and reached into her backpack and pulled out her trigonometry homework. They had a test on Friday. Becca was a lot less familiar with math, having forgotten most of it already. She knew statistics inside and out, but everything else was difficult. 

It was even harder now than it had been when she'd been in high school too because she now knew how irrelevant most of this information was.

“I’ve been trying to figure out who you are,” Edward admitted quietly, after watching her concentrate on a math problem. 

She put her pencil down on the table. Every thought that Becca had, every feeling she’d felt so far today, had been crossed with her despairing mindset. She didn’t have a purpose outside of helping people. If she didn’t have a purpose, why was she alive? What was she doing, here in Forks or otherwise? 

“Well,” Becca said, glancing up at him. She smiled wryly. “If you figure it out, please tell me. I’d like to know, too.” 

Edward frowned at her; his forehead creased. They stared at each other for several seconds. She wondered if he could see her real emotions—that she was confused, scared, even, deep down, hopeless. Then she looked away, towards the other side of the room, where the other Cullens were sitting. None of them were looking in her direction or at each other. Becca looked back at Edward. 

He was still scrutinizing her, as if she was a math problem, he couldn’t figure out how to solve. 

“Are you alright, Bella?” He whispered. 

They stared at each other. Her mind was racing, spinning, miles ahead of her mouth. She felt like a rubber band ball about to pop. She didn’t know the rules of this reality. There was nothing to indicate if there would be any repercussions for her telling the truth. 

Edward misunderstood her silence. 

“I’m only asking because you seem worried,” he hurried to speak. “It seems something is bothering you. More so than usual.” 

Becca narrowed her eyes at him. Was her mood showing enough for Jessica, Angela, and Edward to all pick up on it? She had never been this easy to read in her own body—something about Bella Swan must make it much easier for others to see through her. 

“I’m just tired,” she answered. 

He tilted his head, not believing her.

The bell rang. 

“We’re going to be late,” Becca said, standing up. She reached for her tray. 

“I’m not going to class today,” he told her, looking up at her, his eyes still worried. 

“Why not?” Becca demanded. She surprised herself again. Why did she care what he was doing? 

“It’s healthy to ditch class now and then,” he answered. Right. Blood typing. 

Becca sighed. She didn’t want to go to class, either. There wasn’t much she wished to do other than to go back to Charlie’s house, curl up in the middle of Bella’s bed, and sleep. 

“You can join me if you’d like,” Edward offered. “I won’t promise not to ask you for more information, though.” 

Becca stared at him. She had difficulty thinking when her mind was racing like it currently was. Her thoughts went by faster than she could comprehend; it was like being at a racetrack trying to read letters on speeding cars—she knew they were there, but she had trouble deciphering them. 

In the end, it was the late bell ringing that settled it for her. The cafeteria had emptied; they were alone. 

“Actually,” Becca said, biting her lip. “Would you mind dropping me off at home? I’m not feeling too well.” 

“Of course.” His eyes were troubled again, but his forehead was creased with worry. She expected him to ask her more about how she was feeling, but he stood up and took her tray from him. He was halfway to the tray disposal before Becca decided to follow. 

Neither of them spoke as they exited the cafeteria. The rain was heavier now, and Becca berated herself for not bringing a better jacket. Edward strolled confidently through the rain towards his car. Becca hurried along a few feet behind him, anxiously glancing around her for anyone who might be watching. 

“It’s always raining here,” she mumbled once they were both in his car. Edward was fiddling with the radio and heat controls. He didn’t stop until some sort of classical medley she thought she’d heard before was playing and the heat was blasting. She was shivering. “It’s so much colder here.” 

“Than Phoenix?” He pulled out of the parking lot. “I’d imagine so.” 

Becca grimaced. 

The interior of his car was immaculately clean. No fast food or gum wrappers; no collection of coffee cups in the passenger side floorboard, like the ones that usually littered her own car. They rode in silence and Becca relaxed against the seat as he drove down the highway. Edward drove much faster than either Jessica or Angela did, and Becca liked it. His driving was cleaner, too--it reminded her of back home. Jessica nearly got into an accident once a week, which was impressive, seeing as Forks did not exactly have rush hour traffic. 

“You drive very well,” she commented as he turned onto Charlie’s street. “Better than anyone else in this town.” 

“Thank you,” he answered. He didn’t look at her, but she saw the corner of his mouth turn upwards. 

Neither of them spoke again until he parked beside the truck. Becca unbuckled her seatbelt, but Edward turned off the engine. 

“Is that yours?” he asked, nodding at the truck. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. She was so tired. Tired of everything, really. 

“Why don’t you drive it?” 

“I can’t drive a manual,” she muttered. “I guess Charlie forgot.” 

“Bella,” he said. He didn’t continue until she turned to look at him. “What are you thinking about?” 

“My brother,” she answered honestly. “It’s his birthday today.” 

“You have a brother.” 

“And a sister.” 

“Yet they don’t live with you in Forks.” 

She pursed her lips and sighed. Turning her head, she glanced out of the window at that ugly truck. Becca was way too exhausted to even keep up with her own lies. “No, they don’t.” 

Edward was very quiet. Becca wondered if he already knew that Bella Swan didn’t have siblings. Her mind was racing again—she could say they were half-siblings; she suspected that Edward didn’t know anything about Renee. Well, considering the fact that she’d flown in the day of the accident, maybe he did. 

“What are their names?” he asked. 

She looked over at him; she’d expected confrontation again. He was so confusing to her today. She’d expect him to badger her for answers, but then he’d offered her some sort of feeling of peace instead. 

“Lizzie and Bennet,” she answered flatly. 

“Your parents are Jane Austen fans?” 

Becca blinked. “My mom is a high school English teacher.” 

“Hm."

The real story was more interesting. Becca’s father had taught high school chemistry and her mom had taught high school English. They met for the first time when he’d needed to take a student out of her class—it was a large public high school, and the faculty didn’t make a habit of mingling outside of their departments. Her mom had been reading aloud from Pride and Prejudice when he interrupted, so they’d named their two kids because of it. They were divorced now, and he was technically Becca’s stepfather, but she still called him dad because he’d been there more than her real one. 

“You’re from the future,” Edward said casually. Much more casual than Becca would have liked. He would have shown more emotion if he pointed out how heavy the rain was “Would you like to start there?” 

Becca was startled. She turned to stare at him. “What?” 

“Your shunt,” he said, nodding at her head and leaning back in his seat. “It hasn’t been invented yet.” 

“Actually," she replied. "VP shunts have been around since the 1950s.” 

“Yes,” he allowed, raising his eyebrows. “But not the design of yours.” 

Becca didn’t know enough about it to refute him. She wasn’t exactly well-versed in neurological innovation when it didn’t concern her, and she suspected that Edward knew a lot more about them than she did. 

“And why would you know that?” she asked. 

He shrugged, his eyes still searching hers. His tone was soft, as if he was trying very hard not to frighten or offend her. “It uses technology that hasn’t been invented yet.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Becca scoffed. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I’m a time traveler.” 

“I didn’t call you a time traveler,” he frowned. “I just said that you’re from the future. The VP shunt in your brain uses micromechanical sensors that is capable of being measured and programmed noninvasively. It uses a film made of polydimethylsiloxane, which isn’t approved by the FDA.” 

Becca made a face. She supposed it was a lost cause to ask him why he knew that. 

“Look, Bella,” he sighed. “You insinuated that I could read minds, then declared that my actions later proved it. Your behavior is doing the same for you.” 

Becca made a sound deep in her throat. “This is different. Telepathy has an actual scientific basis—” 

“Mind-reading,” he corrected. 

“What?” 

“Telepathy is the equal communication between two people. You insinuated that I could hear the thoughts of others.” 

“Mind-reading, then,” she scowled at him. “The idea of travelling through time is ludicrous. At least your _mind-reading_ has actual scientific basis.”

“Which is?” he prompted. 

Her face turned bright red. “I mean, like, it has to do with the firing of neurons, right? That’s all electrical impulses. It works similar to electricity in real life.” 

“You might be on to something,” he said, glancing out at the rain and then back at her. “But that likely won’t be discovered for decades. And your analysis is slightly off—neurons work differently than actual electricity. I can’t deny that I am impressed that you know so much about this, though.” 

She didn't say anything in response. 

“Look, Bella,” he said, leaning towards her again. “I can help you if you’re honest with me.” 

“Why?” she questioned, leaning her head back against the seat. “Why would you even do that?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He appeared troubled. 

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t need your help?”

He shrugged. “I think that you do. If you don't, well, perhaps we could just be friends.” 

“Friends,” she mused, gathering her things into her lap. She had to get away before he realized anything else about her. He was intelligent, she had to give him that. How was he so much better at hiding his secret than her? 

“Friends,” he repeated, smiling. 

Becca sighed and opened the door. It was still raining, but thankfully not quite as heavy as it had been a few minutes before. 

She was about to stand up, her feet already firmly planted on the ground, when she remembered that cell phones weren’t quite as popular in 2005 and she had no way of contacting her afternoon ride. 

“Jessica,” she mumbled. “I’ll have to tell Jessica not to wait for me.” 

“I’ll tell her,” he vowed. He smiled when she blinked at him. "II still have to pick up my siblings.” 

She nodded, frustrated with herself, then got out of her car. She shut the passenger side door and was a few feet away when the sound of Edward calling her name made her turn around. 

Becca looked at him, squinting through the precipitation. 

“I hope your brother has a very pleasant birthday,” he told her, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. 

Becca was still staring in his direction even after the Volvo disappeared. 

She took a deep breath, then headed inside. As she untied her boots, she was certain that Charlie was going to ground her for skipping school. He likely already knew that she’d left. Becca wouldn’t put it past the school to call him and report it. 

Still, she didn’t care. 

She climbed the stairs, throwing her jacket on the ground once in her bedroom. Then she curled up into the bed, still in her wet jeans, and buried her face in the pillow. 

She wasn’t sure if it was anger, hopelessness, or overall exhaustion that made her fall asleep, but whatever it was, she fell into a dreamless sleep and didn’t wake up until her alarm went off the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Every comment makes me smile--I really appreciate them. :) 
> 
> This story will diverge from canon a bit in the next 2-3 chapters. Jacob doesn't have much of a purpose in this fic. 
> 
> As usual, I apologize for any errors. I try my best to catch all of them, but I'm sure some of them are still there! 
> 
> I hope you are all staying safe, sane, and as happy as can be in the state of the world we currently find ourselves in!


	6. Scary Stories

She dreams of being with her sister Lizzie. Morning traffic is so backed up on Route 1 that they creep forward, and they are blaring music so loud that the car beside them can hear the bass. Lizzie still has braces with alternating blue and purple bands, which means that she is in eighth grade. The sun blinds them both. Becca is stressed because she has a statistics test first period and hasn’t studied near enough as she should, and Lizzie won’t stop complaining about Malachi, a guy who she wants to hang out with afterschool but is too scared to ask. 

Becca drums her hands on the steering wheel, trying to remember how to find the p-value. Her mind is blank, and they are going to be late. 

“Lizzie,” she orders. “Give me my math notebook.” 

Stressed is all she ever is. 

Lizzie ignores her, singing along to “Bad Blood.” 1989 had been released, and it’s Lizzie’s favorite album of all time. She plays it so much that the entire family knows all of the lyrics. 

“Lizzie!” Becca yells. 

Then it all happens so fast she cannot keep track of it. 

She remembers reaching her hand across the seat in front of Lizzie like her mother does when she slams on the brakes. She remembers the jolt, the way her body goes forward then back. She remembers that “Bad Blood” plays the entire time. She remembers her heart racing and her adrenaline telling her to run all the way home. She doesn’t remember much else. 

It’s not that bad of an accident for Lizzie and Becca—only a tap from behind, a dent in the bumper. They’re the victims of a six-car accident—the cars at the end have it the worst; a woman dies from the impact. Lizzie breaks her wrist, but only because her hand had been at an angle when the impact happened. Becca is completely fine. She gets an extension on her stats test and Lizzie doesn’t even have to go to school. The scariest part is waiting off to the side of the highway with Terry, the middle-aged man who had hit their car directly while they wait for the police.

* * *

When Becca woke up to her alarm, she was more than confused. She became angry when she realized that Lizzie wasn’t next to her. Drenched in sweat, she blinked up at the ceiling. She dug her toes into the mattress, felt the unfamiliar fabric of the blanket on top of her. Blue lights reflected on her window, and she heard a police siren. She frowned to herself and crossed the room to the window—pushing the curtains away from the window and coughing at the dust that follows. 

Charlie was in the yard, standing beside the driver side door of his police cruiser. 

Becca was in Forks, Washington. Three thousand miles away from Route 1, in a universe where the Twilight vampires, who were already weird in comparison to the already strange vampiric lore traditions, all existed. A universe without her siblings, friends, job, or anything she loved. Becca didn’t have her own body except for her brain. She didn’t have her family or her cat or any of her personal belongings. 

All she had was Bella Swan’s life. 

Becca sat on the edge of the bed and took several deep breaths. One of the tricks to combatting derealization was rooting yourself in the world around you. She closed her eyes.

Much of Becca’s life still felt hazy, as if she was trying to remember the plot of a movie that she hadn’t seen in years. Some of it was becoming clearer, but not most of it—especially not what she had been doing before she was left stranded in this reality. Had it been December? July? August?

At least here in this reality, it was no longer her brother’s birthday. It lessened the pressure she felt. She was more than halfway through the spring semester of Bella Swan’s junior year. If she could hold on a little while longer, she could graduate from high school and apply to colleges on the East Coast. She could track down her family if they existed in this reality. Becca would have been a young child in 2005. Perhaps Bella Swan’s real identity had been switched with hers. Yet the thought of Bella Swan living out her childhood in Jersey suburbia made her heart start to race again. 

It didn’t help that Charlie yelled up the stairs a few moments later. “Bella,” he bellowed. “Your friend Angela is sick. Get up if you need a ride—I have to be at the station early today!” 

Becca groaned. She stretched. The wind was heavier than usual this morning; tree limbs pounded against the roof and the windows. New Jersey weather was awful, but Forks weather was a different story—it was misty and stubborn here. 

When she stomped down the stairs three minutes later, Charlie raised an eyebrow at her; she was wearing a black hoodie with the hood over her head, her eyes were crusty, and she had on sweatpants. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth. “You alright? You’ve never slept this long before.” 

Becca didn’t answer, but she made sure to sniffle for good measure as she poured herself a glass of water. 

“Do you think you have what Angela has?” he pressed. 

Becca shook her head and pulled the chair out at the table. “I think it’s just a cold.” 

“It probably wasn’t a good idea to go walking in the woods yesterday morning,” he said. “That’s probably what caused it.” 

“Probably,” Becca agreed, because it was easier to appease him than argue. She sat down across from him, rolling a spare pen across the wood table. 

Becca felt like she was losing her mind. The dream had startled her—she was now at the crossroads of two fields of thought: trying to be Becca Fitzgerald and finding her way back home to the people and job she loved; or, be completely okay with being Bella Swan—and reinvent her dream life. The second option was definitely more interesting and attainable. For one, she was existing in this reality, so she could decide to just enoy it. And she could make this new life better, easier, and happier. 

Yet returning to her real-life dominated her brain. She wanted there to be so much traffic on Route 1 that she was going to be late for work anyway, so she was forced to order coffee; she wanted TikTok and Spotify and her phone; she wanted to spend her entire day off from work binge-watching shows and complaining about capitalism. Her life as Becca Fitzgerald might have seemed sad, but it was her life. 

And in order to enjoy this new life as Bella Swan, she was going to have to stop wishing for her life as Becca Fitzgerald. 

Which was the hard part. 

Well, in any case, she probably was losing her mind. None of this was normal and she was so, so homesick. If she were one of her clients, she would advise them to seek help immediately and go talk to someone. Yet if Becca sought help, she would draw more attention than she wanted. 

Maybe she was delusional. 

Except she didn’t meet the criteria for being delusional. The people in this reality reacted to her. There were real consequences of her behavior. She’d also never heard or read a case of a delusion being as big as this one appeared. The cases she’d read were often smaller, pesky little things, centered around the person experiencing them, another person, or in rare occasions, a group of people. If she went with her gut, and Becca often did, she would say pretty confidently that what she was experiencing was real. 

Which made it even more confusing. 

Psychosis, then? 

It was the shunt that threw her off the most—it was physical evidence that this was not all happening inside of her head. If she had Bella Swan’s brain with her own mind, that would be easier to explain as a psychotic break. She would have just somehow placed herself in the universe. But she had Becca Fitzgerald’s brain in this reality, and there were things that happened in the Twilight universe that she couldn’t remember, so there was no way her brain was making up all of this. 

But if this all _was_ real, and Edward was correct about her shunt not having been invented yet, what on Earth was she going to do when it needed to be replaced? On average, she had to replace or have hers reprogrammed about every five years, excluding from her childhood, in which case they had to be replaced much more often. This would give her, if she was exceedingly lucky, another two or three years before she needed a new one. But that wasn’t accounting for this jump in time. What if this displacement had altered the timeline of her current shunt? 

Charlie had to clear his throat three times before she heard him. 

Becca blinked. “What?” 

He frowned at her. “I said, do you want to tell me why you ran off from school yesterday?” 

Becca took a deep breath. “I wasn’t feeling well.” 

“Who drove you home?” 

“Edward Cullen.” 

Charlie’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I didn’t know that I needed to.” 

“You know, Bella, the Cullens are a great family, but this Edward kid is probably a little too old for you.” 

As he said this, his face was bright red. Becca squinted at him; she wasn’t used to such a reaction from spending time with a boy—her parents had never cared who she hung out with. She’d spent the night at her high school boyfriend’s house plenty of times. It felt like such an archaic mindset to have, especially considering that for the past six years of her life, she’d been able to do exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted to. 

And if only Charlie knew just how old Edward Cullen really was. 

Becca rolled her eyes at Charlie. “We’re the same age, Dad. He’s a junior.” 

Charlie looked as though he wanted to say something else but wasn’t going to press it. 

There was a knock at the front door. 

Becca looked at Charlie, raising her eyebrows over the top of her water glass, and Charlie looked at her. They sized each other up, neither one getting up. 

Charlie shook his head. “It’s got to be for you, Bells. Certainly isn’t for me.” 

The knocking came again, louder this time. Why didn’t everyone invest in cellphones already?

Becca sighed and stood up so forcefully that the chair screeched against the linoleum. She hadn’t yet put her shoes on, so her stomps towards the door in just her socks were a lot less effective. 

She threw it open without looking through the peephole first and then blinked in confusion when she realized who it was. 

The silver Volvo was in the driveway, but it wasn’t Edward at the door. 

It was Alice. 

“Hi,” Alice said smiling. Becca’s mouth fell open in surprise. It was too foggy for her to see who was in the car, but if Edward had brought all of his family to meet her, she was going to find a way to kill him. “We thought you needed a ride to school today.” 

Becca opened her mouth again to speak but let it close. There was something very important about Alice that she was forgetting, and it was making her feel incredibly stupid. 

And yet she couldn’t deny that she was actually happy to see her. 

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea, Bella,” Charlie appeared in the doorway behind her. Becca turned to look at him—he was putting his belt on and momentarily she was angered that he hadn’t gotten the door if he was just about to leave. “It’ll give you time to finish getting ready. I have to leave for the station.” 

Becca glanced back at Alice. Her eyes were bright. She was wearing a pale blue headband, which somehow looked striking against the color of her hair, but also complimented her skin. 

“Go ahead,” Alice encouraged. “Take your time.” 

“Um,” Becca mumbled. “Okay.” 

“I’ll be in the car,” Alice said, still smiling. She pointed up at the sky, which was now lightly drizzling as an explanation. “I don’t want my hair to get wet.” 

“Right,” Becca echoed. She closed the door behind her. 

“I didn’t know you were such good friends with the Cullens,” Charlie muttered as she walked past him towards the stairs. 

“Me either,” she mumbled from the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the railing. “I’ll see you later, Dad.” 

“Wait, Bella,” he called. She turned around to face him. His face was stern, but she could tell he was putting in a lot of effort to keep it that way. “Don’t cut school. If it happens again, I’ll be forced to ground you. And, well, there’s not really much to ground you from. So, don’t do it.” 

“Bye, Dad,” she called again over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. 

Upstairs, Becca got dressed in a hurry, eager to not keep them waiting—she put on her only pair of high waisted jeans, which she now guessed was a gift from Alice, brushed her teeth, and splashed her face with water. On her feet were her bright yellow converse. It dawned on her as she shouldered her backpack that she hadn’t even bothered to look at any of the homework for the first time since she’d been in Forks. 

She had also neglected to get Charlie to write her a note as to why she’d cut school. 

The air outside was cooler than she expected. The weather here really was so weird. Aside from the nearly incessant rain, one day she would need a heavy coat until to need just a jacket. The fog had lightened, at least. Becca could see who was in the Volvo now. 

Becca wanted to be displeased that Edward was driving, she really did, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit more at ease now that she saw him sitting there. He didn’t know nearly anything about her, but he knew more than anyone else in Forks, and that made him a suitable companion, at least. She was surprised by how much their small conversation had changed things, at how comfortable she felt in his presence. 

“Good morning,” Edward said pleasantly as she got into the backseat. “I trust that you slept well.” 

Becca smiled at him in the rearview mirror. It was odd how much better she felt in their presence—her doom had all but faded away. 

“Here you go, Bella,” Alice said once Becca had fastened her seatbelt. She was holding a small paper bag with a familiar green goddess on it. Alice also handed her a plastic cup. “I hope you like it. We weren’t sure how you liked your coffee.” 

Becca was stunned, but she took both of them anyway. 

“Where did you get this?” Becca wondered, turning the cup around in her hand. It looked slightly different, a bit bigger than a grande, but not yet a venti. If she had to guess by the color, it was a latte, but there was also ice in it! 

Alice turned to beam at her. She didn’t have her seatbelt on, even though Edward had already reversed out of Becca’s driveway and was now speeding down the highway. “Port Angeles.” 

“Oh,” Becca mumbled. Becca wasn’t yet sure how far away that was. Despite being in Forks for six weeks, she’d had zero opportunities to explore anything. “You drove there this morning?” 

“We had to drop our brother and Jasper off,” Alice explained. 

Becca took a sip of the coffee—it _was_ an iced latte, with caramel flavoring. Becca closed her eyes. Before she knew it, she’d drank all of it. The croissant they’d given her was her favorite type—almond. Normally Becca felt guilty when people she didn’t know well bought her things, but she knew that the Cullens could afford it. Besides, she wouldn’t exactly call herself materialistic, but it was nice to have similar pleasures to those of her real life. 

“Why aren’t your siblings coming to school today?” She questioned as Edward parked the car. 

“We’re going hiking this weekend,” Alice answered. “They all already left, but Edward and I have to turn in our biology homework, so we’re driving there this afternoon together. Mr. Banner is really strict about late homework.” 

“He is?” Becca frowned. She’d have to find a way to finish hers before the class started then. Though she’d skipped his class, she had never not done his homework. 

“He’s just like that with us,” Edward said, glaring at Alice. He glanced at Becca through the mirror. “We miss school a lot, so he attempts to do everything in his power to lower our grades.” 

“It doesn’t work,” Alice chimed in. 

Becca raised her eyebrows and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Sounds like him.” 

The three of them walked towards the main building. Becca couldn’t help looking around at everyone who was staring at them. 

“So, Becca,” Alice began. “Have you had time to explore the area?” 

Becca raised her eyebrow. Alice was a few inches shorter than her, even shorter than Becca’s normal height. “I wasn’t aware there was an area to explore.” 

Edward snorted and Alice laughed. 

“There isn’t,” Alice agreed. “We should go to Port Angeles sometime. Or maybe even Seattle. You’ve been there before, right? The airport?” 

Becca had not, but she knew that Bella probably had. She also thought that there was a strong chance that the Seattle airport looked the same as any other airport in the world, so she nodded. 

“Better yet, you should come to our house one afternoon,” Alice continued. 

“Alice,” Edward warned. 

As they approached the humanities buildings, Alice hugged Becca. 

“I’ll see you later,” she promised. She nodded at Edward, smiled at Becca, and then bounded in the opposite direction towards the science classes. 

Edward waited until Becca started walking again before joining her. 

“What class do you have first?” Becca asked. 

“Calculus,” he answered, staring straight ahead. If he was bothered by the students who were still staring at them, he didn’t show it. 

But Becca was. It bothered her that so many of them were blatantly looking. Had it been just her friends, she wouldn’t have minded, but this seemed to be several students she’d never even spoken to. It was rude—if she were back home, she would call them out on it. 

“Shouldn’t you have gone with Alice, then?” she pointed out. The math building was right next to the science one. 

Edward looked down at her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. 

“I really like talking to Alice,” Becca continued when Edward didn’t as he held the door open for her. She smiled at him. “I think more than I like talking to you.” 

“Me too,” he teased, grinning down at her. 

The hallway was dim; Becca was earlier than usual. There were two other kids sitting together on the opposite side of the hallway, but neither of them looked their way. 

“Edward, can I ask you something?” Becca said once they were close to Mr. Masen’s classroom.

Edward leaned against the lockers. His eyes were open, honest, perhaps a bit concerned. “Of course.” 

Becca took a deep breath and glanced around her before meeting his gaze again. “I want to be clear that I’m not denying nor confirming anything you might have suggested yesterday. However, what you said about the technology in my shunt not being invented yet greatly concerns me. As you seem to know quite a lot about neurology, then you most likely know that shunts have to be replaced every few years.” 

His thumbs were hooked around his pockets. He held her gaze. “That’s not something that should bother you.” 

Becca frowned. “I shouldn’t let the fact that a device I _need_ to live might not be invented yet? I shouldn’t be concerned that not having this replaced will eventually kill me? I shouldn’t be concerned that my own cerebrospinal fluid will basically drown me?” 

“My father would never let anything happen to you, Bella,” he assured her quietly. “And actually, excess CS fluid isn’t the same as drowning.” 

Becca winced. “He could replace it?” 

“Yes. He’s a gifted surgeon.” 

Becca looked away from him, towards the double doors at the end of the hallway. She was remembering Edward’s confrontation a few weeks ago, how annoyed it had made her feel—how powerful. 

“When you say he would never let anything happen to me,” she began carefully, making sure not to look at him until she’d asked the question. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, right?” 

“That depends,” Edward frowned. “On what you think I mean." 

She took a deep breath.  


“I don’t want to live forever,” Becca said. She balled her hands in fists; her nails dug into her palms. 

Edward froze. He was staring at her with an unfathomable expression. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, concerned, or confused. 

The first bell rang, and the hallway lights came on. Seconds later, the outside door opened, and half a dozen students filed in. Edward didn’t need to glance behind him to see who it was, but Becca did. Before she could move her head though, Edward had his hand wrapped around her arm. He steered her down the hall and opened a door that Becca hadn’t ever noticed. It was a janitor’s closet that smelt strongly of chemicals. There was a yellow mop bucket, full of dirty water, in between the two of them. 

The room was dusty, the walls packed with shelves that held everything from buckets of clay to several different sized glass beakers. The bottom two shelves were filled with textbooks. 

She heard him close the door and then the next second he was standing as far away from her as the tiny room would allow, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes were closed, and she waited for him to say something as to why he’d dragged her into this room, but he didn’t speak. 

“Look…” Becca said, frowning. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m not judging you. I just don’t want to live forever. One lifetime is enough for me.”

Edward opened his eyes, staring down at her. He frowned. “You think I’m offended?” 

Becca shrugged. 

“Bella,” he sighed. He was pinching the bridge of his nose again. “I don’t want to pressure you—”  


“But you are,” Becca interrupted. 

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he repeated. “But I need you to tell me what it is you know.” 

Becca was suspended in his anxious gaze. She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

She ran her toe across the metal part of the mop bucket. “You know how I was telling you about Schrodinger’s cat? You might not care about the cat, but I do. I can’t tell you anything if I don’t know any of the repercussions. I am my best ally.” 

They stared at each other so long that the first bell rang. Still, neither of them moved.

“I don’t understand you, Bella.” He laughed without humor. “You might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe you aren’t meant to understand me.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

“My family could be endangered by this,” he pointed out, gesturing wildly with his hand. “Whatever it is that you know.” 

Becca’s family didn’t even know where she was. 

“With all due respect, Edward, at least you _have_ your family. I only have myself, and I’m certainly not going to do anything that endangers _me._ Which includes telling you things.” 

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “You have family. Your mom flew all the way across the country after the accident. Chief Swan has been talking about you moving here for months.” 

Becca looked back down at the mop bucket between them but didn’t say anything. 

Edward sighed. “Will you at least tell me more about these repercussions that you are worried about?” 

“I might…if I knew what they were.”

He shook his head in frustration. Bella looked back up and watched him for a while. He really was like a stone…carved out of some sort of perfect material. 

He leaned in closer towards her. “ _When_ you figure them out, will you please tell me?” 

It was a dangerous thing to promise. Becca bit her lip. 

“You can trust me,” he urged. 

She smiled. “Trust is earned, Edward. Not given.” 

One of her favorite platitudes. Her mom had given her a portrait with it, which she had hanging up in her office. She found it amusing, really. Like most platitudes, it was oversimplified, but dipped in truth—in reality, trust varied from person to person. A person trusted based on who they knew and what they had lived through. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “Fine. But Bella, if this gets too dangerous for you, if you are concerned about your life, at least tell me that.” 

“I will,” she promised. 

He nodded again, then reached forward and pushed the door open. “You’re going to be late for class.” 

Becca noticed he never said anything about him being late for class. They reached the outside of the room just as the second bell was ringing. Becca turned to watch him leave the hallway. 

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he called over his shoulder. 

He didn’t turn around again—not even once. 

“Miss Swan,” Mr. Mason greeted, glaring at her as she stepped into the room. “How nice of you to join us.” 

Becca waved at him. A few students snickered, but Mike Newton wasn’t one of them. She took her usual seat next to Angela’s empty one and began to copy the notes on the board that Mr. Masen had written, only half paying attention. 

It bothered her how much being around Edward placated her. He was still a vampire that probably thirsted for her blood. He would likely kill her if she gave him the chance. But at least his interest in her, whatever it may be, gave her a lapse in the monotonous routine of life in Forks. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep her from sliding into the mundane life, enough to keep her focused on keeping her mind sane and stable. 

She would not deny to herself that she was attracted to him physically, no matter how odd or weird or even _illegal_ that it might feel. Mentally, much the same as she thought she was to him, he was like a puzzle that she herself could not quite figure out. How he had managed to figure out that she wasn’t from this time period, just by the shunt inside her head, she didn’t know. Why hadn’t he asked if she’d had the procedure done in a different country? Why had he gone straight for that answer instead? 

Was she really _that_ bad at remaining inconspicuous? 

She supposed that only time would tell. As well as their conversation at lunch. It had now become tradition—every conversation she had with Edward was starting to reveal something about her. 

Perhaps she should let him. 

She turned in her notebook to a clean page and began to write freely about what was running through her mind, no longer paying attention to what Mr. Masen was saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you so much for all of the support I've gotten for this. It's only a week old and I never imagined that I would have anybody reading this at all LOL. This is pretty much my first real Twilight ff ever, though I certainly have read thousands of them (I was 13 at the height of Twilight; most of my adolescence was taken up by fanfiction.net). I truly appreciate every single one of you--every kudos, follow, and comment. Thank you for taking time out of your lives to read my writing. You make these difficult times SO much better :) 
> 
> This chapter was really hard for me to write, so I certainly hope it isn't difficult to read. Feel free to let me know either way! 
> 
> But...bigger (and better) chapters are coming, particularly when we get to the Port Angeles chapter! As I said before, I'm loosely following Twilight as an outline here, but Twilight has a very weird timeline, to say the least. The next chapter will pick up right near where this one ends. 
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe & sane & happy as can be, wherever you are in the world right now :)


	7. Nightmare

Her walk to trigonometry was quiet for once, with both Mike and Eric leaving the classroom before Becca had even packed her bag. She supposed that, for whatever reason, it was easy to make enemies here in Forks once you publicly befriended the Cullens. 

But Becca didn’t hate the solitude. She had developed a new plan. There was supposedly a community college in Forks—she’d overheard Eric and Lauren talking about it once. Becca would ask Charlie if she could enroll in classes after school. Perhaps there would even be a social work program. It would definitely be more engaging than the high school classes and _if_ social work was an option, they would most likely have satellite programs and she could work with kids again. If she had a purpose, if her existence was tied to something, it would make everything better. 

The drizzle was so light that she didn’t bother to put her hood up as she trudged through the courtyard to the math building. 

At least Jessica Stanley hadn’t yet declared her an enemy. 

“Bella!” Jessica shrieked as soon as Becca entered the room. Her face was flushed, and her hair was frizzy; her eyes were lined in coal-black eyeliner. “You rode to school with Edward Cullen?” 

“Now, Jessica,” Becca reprimanded, her own face turning red as everyone already in the room turned to look at her for an explanation. Becca caught the eye of Ben Cheney, a sophomore who was a year ahead in some of his classes. She quickly looked away from him as she sat at the desk next to her. She lowered her voice to no higher than a whisper as she looked at Jessica. “Don’t make a big deal about it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Are you going out with him?” Jessica demanded. “I thought we were good friends.” 

“We _are_ good friends,” Becca reminded her. She pulled out her notebook. Trigonometry was so difficult that she’d already almost filled up the entire book. She flipped to her homework problems from the night before that were still incomplete and began to work them out. 

Jessica looked around them and then leaned in close to Becca. “Are you sleeping with him?” 

Becca made a face. “Of course not.” 

“But he drove you to school…” 

“With his _sister_ ,” Becca reminded her. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” 

Jessica mumbled something under her breath. Becca raised an eyebrow at her. It was becoming more and more difficult for her to treat these students like case studies. It was fun at first, but it felt rather grueling now. For one, the kids she was used to working with didn’t have quite such petty problems. Their problems were more extensive—dead parents, abuse, neglect, drugs. Becca had yet to encounter any of these problems in 2005 Forks, Washington. And secondly, although she didn’t know a single person who went into social work for the pay, Becca had to admit that she did not feel like helping these people with their petty problems if she wasn’t getting a check for it. 

“It’s just kind of weird, don’t you think?” Jessica said as Mr. Varner entered the classroom. “You’ve been here not even two months and now you’re BFFs with Edward Cullen.” 

“I’m not BFFs with him,” Becca sighed. Luckily, Mr. Varner turned on the overhead projector and started class. Becca passed up her half-done homework and began copying the notes on the unit circle.

When class was over, Becca steered their conversation towards more relevant topics as they walked towards Spanish. 

“Jess,” she said. “What do you know about the college here in Forks?” 

Jessica made a face. “Peninsula? My mom went there before she transferred to Udub. Some of the guys are hot, but kind of useless.”

“Udub?” 

“The University of Washington,” she rolled her eyes as if it was obvious. “Why? You’re not thinking of applying there, are you?” 

Becca avoided the question. “Do you know what kind of classes they have?” 

“Just the regular ones,” Jessica shrugged. “English, math, finance. A lot of people go there for a few years and save up money then transfer to Udub. There’s this guy, Daniel Evans, he’s taken classes at Peninsula since Freshman year. But honestly, Bella, do you even like Forks?” 

Becca frowned. “I’m getting used to it.” 

She was happy to know that dual enrollment existed here then. Becca had never taken them when she was in high school, but a few of her friends had. She suspected that they wouldn’t be too hard, anyway. Becca was way closer to college-age than high school; she’d graduated a little over two years ago. She was much more acclimated to the faster-paced rigor of a college environment than one of high school. 

“Anyway, you’re still not going to go to the dance, right?” Jessica asked. Becca shook her head. “Well, Angela, Lauren, and I are going to Port Angeles next week to find dresses. You should come with us. Get out of Forks.” 

“Yeah,” Becca agreed, though she was still considering it. It would be nice to get out of Forks, even if she would have to deal with Lauren outside of lunch. The girl was vapid and insipid and constantly complaining. Becca could maneuver around Jessica’s attitude, and Angela was no problem at all, but Lauren drove her insane. “I’ll have to ask Charlie, though.” 

Spanish went by quickly. They did a partner exercise, so Becca listened to Jessica murder her pronunciation. While Becca had never taken Spanish until Forks, being proficient in French helped her reading comprehension, and Trenton had a prominent Latinx community, so she was familiar with the language. She didn’t always get the meanings of the words correct, but her accent was a lot better than Jessica’s. 

She was faking it until she could make it. Just like everything else here in this reality. 

Even Mrs. Goff complimented her pronunciation. First in Spanish, to which Becca stared at her blankly, then in English. “Did you take AP Spanish in Phoenix, Bella?” 

Becca shook her head. Another task on her to-do list was to obtain Bella Swan’s transcript so that she herself could determine what she was supposed to be an expert in. “No ma’am. It must be your superior teaching skills.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes at this, but Mrs. Goff just smiled. 

“She won’t give you extra credit, no matter how much you compliment her,” Jessica muttered as they made their way to the cafeteria. “Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I can’t ever get above a C in this class.” 

Becca laughed. Her stomach was bubbling with anticipation. She knew that Edward had said that he would see her at lunch, but how could she be sure he would? Then, she reprimanded herself—why was she feeling this kinship with him? He was only interested in talking to her because he couldn’t read her mind and because she was different than the others here in Forks. It was about the challenge; it was about the chase. If Edward Cullen could read her mind, there would be no reason for him to even seek her out. 

And why did she _care_? Maybe Bella Swan’s body was making her hormonal. Sure, the hypothalamus dealt with hormones in the brain, but the endocrine system was made up of glands all over the body. It would be possible then, in this reality at least, for her to have Bella Swan’s hormones with Becca Fitzgerald’s brain. 

She got into line with Jessica. The hot lunch was spaghetti, so she opted for a bag of potato chips and a blue Gatorade. Jessica prattled on and on about Mike, and Becca found herself missing Angela’s presence dearly. Especially when she heard Jessica groan under her breath. 

“Edward is staring at you again,” she said. Becca knew that if people physically showed jealousy, Jessica’s face would be bright green. 

Becca looked over her shoulder in the direction of the table she’d sat at with Edward the day before. He was sitting alone, but as she stared, Alice sat and joined him. Once he caught her eye, Edward raised his hand in greeting. Becca waved back, then turned back to stare at the floor. 

“So, you’re waving now, huh?” Jessica muttered. “What, is that like, a sixteenth of the way to first base?” 

Becca rolled her eyes. Her heart was racing now. Maybe she was feeling the effects of the coffee she’d drank earlier—she hadn’t had any coffee since arriving in Forks. Yet it had been a few hours already, so that didn’t make much sense. Was it possible that she was just…nervous? Of having to sit and talk with a high school boy? 

“Bella. Be honest,” Jessica continued as Becca stepped up to the register to pay. “You seriously don’t want to date Edward Cullen?” 

“No,” Becca answered, smiling at the lunch lady. “I seriously don’t.” 

“But he wants to date you,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “Are you _insane_? If Edward Cullen wanted to date me, I would _never_ say no.” 

“He doesn’t want to date me, Jessica. Edward and I are friends. And you have Mike,” Becca reminded her. 

Jessica scowled at her but stepped up to pay for her food. She looked back at Becca as they walked out of the serving line. 

“I guess you’re not sitting with us today then,” She accused. 

Becca shrugged. Normally she might have felt inclined to invite Jessica to sit with them, but her racing pulse was encouraging her to do the opposite. “I’ll see you later.” 

She took a deep breath, aware of the way that Edward’s eyes had shifted to watch her. The cafeteria was less crowded today—the rain had stopped so a lot of students were eating outside. Still, Becca’s face flamed red when she realized that half of the cafeteria was staring as she sat down beside Alice and across from Edward. 

Her hands were shaky, and her heart was pounding, but she tried to disguise both of these facts by busying herself with opening her Gatorade. When her hands were still visibly shaking and she was thus unable to twist the cap, she switched to the chip bag. 

“Hey,” Edward greeted her softly. Becca blinked—had his eyes always looked this much like honey? 

“Are you going to the dance, Bella?” Alice asked before Becca could respond to Edward. “I just bought this blue dress, and I think it would look great on you. You could borrow it if you want. It would suit your skin tone and bone structure.” 

“Um,” Becca said, shaking her head. How on Earth had the Cullens pretended to be human? Offering a dress that matched her bone structure? Becca wasn’t even certain what her own bone structure was, much less Bella Swan’s. “No. I have a lot of homework to do. I think I’ll just make it into a self-care weekend.” 

“I thought you were going to Phoenix to visit your mother,” Edward interjected. He was tearing a roll to pieces with his fingers. 

“Uh, yeah, no,” Becca closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. It was unsettling how he remembered everything. Unsettling that he even wanted to remember anything about her. “No, I just said that because I didn’t want to go with Mike. I don’t really like dances.” 

“Why not?” Edward asked. 

“They’re hot and sweaty. In a high school gym. The music is usually bad, and it always smells awful. It just isn’t fun.” Becca shrugged. “I mean, if I lived in like the 1800s, I’d love to go to a ball or something, but high school dances aren’t really my thing.” 

Becca glanced up and noticed that several students seemed to be going out of their way to walk by their lunch table. If Edward or Alice so much as looked at them, they’d skirt away like rats. Now, though, Edward was scrutinizing her so closely that students were roaming closer and closer. Becca didn’t recognize most of them, meaning they were likely underclassmen. 

“What does self-care entail, exactly?” Alice prompted when Edward didn’t add anything. She leaned forward towards Becca, her elbows resting on the table, like Becca was the most entrancing specimen she’d ever come across. 

“You know, like a pamper weekend. I’ll do my nails, a face mask maybe. I’ll watch some movies or something. Maybe Grey’s Anatomy if I can find it.” She took another deep breath and glanced at Alice. Alice’s eyes were currently a little darker than Edward’s, caramel instead of honey. 

“Gray’s Anatomy?” Edward repeated, sounding confused. His eyebrows were furrowed. “You’re referring to the book by Henry Gray?” 

“No, it’s a TV show. I thought it premiered in 2005. Weird,” she frowned. Actually, she was certain of it. The show had premiered in 2005. 

If Alice was surprised by Becca’s weird mention of time, she didn’t show it. And if either of the Cullens were surprised by how nervous Becca seemed, they didn’t acknowledge. 

“Well, I’ve never heard of it,” Alice said casually. “But I’ll be on the lookout and let you know if I do.” 

Becca nodded and looked back down at her food. She was no longer in the mood to eat anything. It seemed odd now, especially since neither Edward nor Alice was eating. Yet she’d had no problem with the almond croissant this morning. 

This had to be a hormonal response. It didn’t make any sense how she could go from being completely indifferent to Edward Cullen to her heart feeling like it was on an airport runway. Her hands were ridiculously sweaty, and she still couldn’t open the Gatorade bottle. She also didn’t want to keep trying, for fear that Edward would take it upon himself to open it for her. 

And that would most certainly be humiliating. 

Becca shook her head. She _was_ feeling like she had when she was sixteen. Hyperaware of everything around her. It was definitely a hormonal response. Adrenaline—she was positive now. And maybe norepinephrine to boot. Both of those were produced in the adrenal glands, which were located at the top of the kidney. This meant the adrenal glands belonged to Bella Swan’s body. 

This was Bella Swan’s reaction, then. Not Becca’s. She breathed a sigh of relief at her own clarification. 

“Are you alright, Bella?” Edward asked, frowning.

She looked up to meet his eyes but immediately wished that she hadn’t. They were filled with nothing but what looked like concern, and this made her heart palpitate again. Becca closed her eyes so that she could concentrate. There were students talking all around them. She was alright. She was okay. She wasn’t in any danger. 

Even if she was in danger, she doubted that neither Alice nor Edward would let anything happen to her, especially not without finding out her story first. 

Becca opened her eyes again. “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Alice laughed. “Maybe we should have gotten you another coffee.” 

“Well, we could still go,” Edward teased, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I’m sure Mr. Banner wouldn’t mind if we brought him something back.” 

“Could we make it back before the end of the period?” Becca asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Oh, yes,” Edward answered, grinning so wide that Becca felt a shiver run down her spine. Right, she reminded herself, he drove just like most other person drove back home on the turnpike: at least over 80mph, and often, far above that. 

“We’ll go next week,” Alice promised. 

Becca smiled at her, pushing her food away from her. She didn’t miss the look that Edward and Alice exchanged, but instead, decided to ignore it as she pulled out her biology homework. She did need to keep up the idea of being a good student up, especially now that she was planning on trying to get the community college to allow her to take extra classes. There was no way Charlie, the school, or whoever else had to sign off on it would do it if she was missing work. 

But she was having difficulty concentrating with Alice and Edward spewing conversation back and forth. 

Becca knew they were only speaking aloud for her benefit, but either because of their voices or because of who they were, every time they said anything, her mind would become unfocused. She felt more hypervigilant sitting at that table than she had felt in her entire life. 

“Well, I should get to class. I’ll see you on Tuesday, Bella,” Alice said after a few minutes. She stood with her full tray in her hands. The food had been rearranged, but none of it had been eaten. “I do hope you have a good weekend.” 

“Tuesday? You’re not coming on Monday?” 

“Camping trip,” Alice explained. “We’re coming back late Monday night.” 

Becca tried to smile back as Alice waved and left, but the anxiety was building up inside, expanding outwards from her brain to her extremities. She pressed her hands against her thighs to keep her fingers from jittering. 

In just two days, she had become so used to Edward probing her for answers. He at least knew that there was a side to her that no one else in Forks knew, even if he didn’t know a fourth of the truth. It was odd for her, to feel so quickly understood. But somehow just the fact that Edward knew she was pretending about something, and she knew that he was doing the same, make her feel like they were co-conspirators. 

One school day was bad enough, but how she was going to get through the two days with just Jessica and nothing to look forward to, she had no idea. It was precisely this moment that she realized just how much she looked forward to Edward’s presence, even if she didn’t say a word to him. She felt safe with him—and she wasn’t sure why. 

Tomorrow and Monday, Becca suspected, were going to be her worst days in Forks yet. At least she would have the weekend in between as a buffer. 

“Here,” Edward murmured. His homework paper was already in front of her before she even noticed. Becca glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. “It’s fine,” he urged. “Mr. Banner never reads them too deeply.” 

Becca frowned down at his paper, still unsure. 

“Trust me. And,” he smiled. “There’s only seven minutes left of lunch period left.” 

Her eyes widening, Becca took a deep breath and began writing furiously. 

Becca was a little disappointed when she realized that there was no way she would have finished this worksheet in seven minutes had Edward not given her his to copy. It was on cellular respiration, the Krebs’s Cycle, which she’d only heard of once—during her brief two-week period of contemplating becoming a psychiatrist. Once she’d learned that she would need to take organic chemistry before even taking the MCAT, she happily settled back into her social work major. 

Edward walked beside her on the way to biology. Becca was painfully aware of how close he stood to her, and just how careful he was not to touch her. They didn’t speak on the two-minute walk to the empty classroom. 

Becca took out her notebook and pencil from her bag and tried to review her notes, tapping her pen against the table. She knew from Jessica that Mr. Banner had given a pop quiz that morning. It looked like she was going to have to learn this dreaded Krebs’s Cycle if it killed her. 

Edward reached forward and held the pen flat against the table. His pinky finger was less than a centimeter from her thumb. 

Becca looked up at him. 

“I know I said that I wouldn’t pressure you,” Edward whispered, tilting his head in her direction “But I don’t understand you, and it’s driving me mad.” 

She could feel her palms getting sweaty around the pen. Still, she felt frozen, as if she couldn’t release her grip. Edward moved his hand forward until the nail of his littlest finger was flush against the nail of her thumb. 

Becca swallowed. “And what if there isn’t anything to understand?” 

He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Mr. Banner swinging the door open. Becca turned to look at him, but Edward just closed his eyes in defeat. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here alone with the door closed,” Mr. Banner snapped at them in accusation. He lowered his voice. “Perfect Cullen or not.” 

“My apologies,” Edward said sincerely. “Bella and I were reviewing our notes for the quiz today, sir.” 

Mr. Banner slammed down his stack of papers on his desk. “And who told you about the quiz today?” 

“Word gets around quickly,” Edward answered, just as the bell rang. 

Mr. Banner grunted but turned around and began writing on the board. 

The outside door sprung open; moments later laughter and conversation flowed freely as students walked towards the classroom. Mike Newton was careful not to look in Becca’s direction as he sat down at the table directly next to theirs; Becca sighed and watched the rest of the class enter, trying to remember all of their names. Samantha in hip hugger jeans and a low-cut green blouse. Christina in a ruffled short white skirt and blue polo. All the girls in the class had stick straight hair. 

It all screamed Avril Lavigne. 

How easy their lives were. They held no knowledge of what was to come in the next few years—an economic crash, several natural disasters, a huge oil spill. The world that Becca came from was full of tumultuous turmoil. Yet these teenagers were all so unaware of anything that the future held. They were filled with dreams of college and felt that they could change the world if they just cared and tried hard enough. Becca felt nostalgic just looking at them. 

Why her? Why Becca? Why had she been transported into this reality while billions of others lived out their normal lives? 

Was it a gift? A curse? 

_Why_ was she here? 

Mr. Banner hadn’t yet announced their pop quiz, though it was no surprise to anyone in the class—most of them had already memorized the questions. Now, Mr. Banner was giving a very heated review of the material from the day before. While he was lost in the process of high and low energy, Becca felt Edward knock his leg against hers. 

“Bella?” he whispered. His voice was so low that not even Mike, on Bella’s other side, could have detected it. 

She glanced at him.

They stared at each other for several moments. Mr. Banner switched to talking about acetyl and coenzymes, both of which Jessica had told her would be on the quiz, but Becca couldn’t listen. 

“There’s a lot about you to understand,” He said. He did not smile, but his words sounded as if he was. 

Becca could think of nothing to say. 

Edward met her eyes, nodded almost imperceptibly, then looked back to the front of the room.  
That night at dinner, once Becca had spent several hours catching up on the homework she’d neglected, she asked Charlie about Peninsula College. 

They’d gotten Chinese take-out for once, and Charlie had a plate of sesame chicken in front of him. He chewed slowly, looking at her skeptically. 

“Let me get this straight,” he swallowed. “A day ago, you ask me to help you find a job. Now you want to go to college early?” 

“Not early, I just want to take a class or two. Get used to more advanced subjects.” 

He stabbed at his plate with his fork, and she winced at the sound the metal made against the porcelain. Becca had asked for chopsticks, but the Chinese restaurant here didn’t have them. 

“I suppose if it’s really what you want to do,” Charlie said. “What classes do you want to take? What exactly is it that you want to do, Bells?” 

“I was thinking social work,” she answered. As soon as she said the words, the weirdest sensation enveloped her—it wasn’t so much as painful as completely and utterly disorienting. 

“Social work?” Charlie asked. He put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach. “That’s interesting. I never would have pegged you as a social worker. I didn’t know you liked it that much.” 

Becca’s mind was split in two. She knew what had happened. She knew what had sent her to Forks. 

All she could do was nod at Charlie. 

“As long as it doesn’t make you fall behind on your schoolwork, I’m fine with it,” he continued, watching her closely. He picked his fork back up and began to eat again. “Do you need me to call Shelly Cope tomorrow and give her permission to enroll you?” 

Becca got up and put her plate in the sink. She needed to be alone. At any moment, she was going to collapse. 

“Yeah, that sounds great, Dad. Thanks,” she said. She picked up her backpack from where she had left it on the floor. “I need to finish some homework. I think I’ll go to sleep early. I’m really tired.” 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You’re always tired, kid. Between that and this brain surgery I never knew about, it makes me worry.” 

She forced herself to laugh. “Night, Dad.” 

“Night, Bells.”

Becca was able to contain the sobs as she climbed the stairs. As soon as she closed the door to her room, she fell against it, sinking to the floor. Becca hugged her legs close to her chest, leaning her face against her knees. The emotions were deep and powerful; it was like someone was holding her down and suffocating her. 

She had gotten fired. 

It was the worst thing that had happened in her adult life. She had gotten fired, and she’d consequently had to move out of her apartment and back home with her family. That was why she was living in her teenage bedroom. She remembered the call from her boss, feeling like she wasn’t real as she drove to the building, feeling like she didn’t exist as she packed up her belongings. 

Becca didn’t have a purpose—without her jobs, without those kids. Becca couldn’t find a reason for her existence if she wasn’t serving the community. 

Becca Fitzgerald was dead. 

And it was all her fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the (kind of) cliffhanger here! I'm about to start writing the following chapter right now, should be up tomorrow or Sunday. I'd originally planned to have this chapter up a couple of days ago, but this was a very hectic week for me work-wise. I hope this chapter makes Becca's reactions a little clearer. 
> 
> The next chapter is the Port Angeles one! It will be a very fun one. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read! I really appreciate all of the reviews and kudos, as well as subscriptions and bookmarks. Every time I get a notification, it makes me write 10x faster. And, consequently, stay up writing until 3am, when I have to wake up at 8am for work, but that's a personal problem LOL
> 
> As usual please feel free to leave your honest thoughts! Stay safe out there :)


	8. Port Angeles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter...it was my original intention to separate this into two chapters, but then there would have been hardly any Edward in this one. I always skipped parts of Twilight that didn't have Edward in it, so I guess this is just personal. Lol. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Becca did not sleep well. 

It was 4 am before she knew it, and her pillows were soaked with her tears. She cried without stopping, but as quietly as possible because the walls were so thin and she knew that if Charlie heard her, it would be the worst-case scenario for both of them. She tossed and turned so much that the fitted sheet was halfway off of her bed. The depression surrounded her. Her professors in college had compared it to a storm cloud, but for Becca, it felt like an avalanche—crushing her so that she could not think straight. 

When her alarm went off a seven, she felt like she’d only been asleep for ten minutes. Her eyes burned and her body was sore. Her mind felt less foggy than ever though, so she reached over and turned off all of her alarms and went back to sleep. 

Becca had no idea what time it was when Charlie came knocking. 

“Bella? Are you still asleep?” he asked incredulously from outside the door. 

She ignored him, keeping her eyes closed. They were so dry from crying that when the air hit them, she felt like they had been scorched. 

“Your friend Angela called. She’s still sick and I’m about to leave for the station, so…” 

There was no way that she was going to go to Forks High School today. Certainly not on just two hours of sleep, driven by Charlie, when both Edward and Angela weren’t going to be there. 

There was no damn way. 

“Bella?” Charlie asked, anxiously now. He knocked twice, then opened the door and stepped into her room. 

“I don’t feel well,” she croaked. Her throat was sore enough that it sounded believable. Charlie was taken aback. 

“Uh…alright,” he cleared his throat. “I guess you should stay at home. I’ll call Shelly and let her know. Let me know if you need anything. The number for the station is beside the phone.” 

Becca didn’t answer him. Charlie stared down at her but finally realized that she wasn’t going to respond. Still frowning, he mumbled something about her needing to visit a doctor and turned and went downstairs. He left her door cracked, so she could hear him in the kitchen. A glass clanked against a plate. 

A few minutes later, when she heard his car start and drive away, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t fall back asleep and she couldn’t make her brain stop. This room was so dull looking. The walls were bare, and the belongings scattered around still felt unfamiliar. 

Nothing about this space represented her—she was a stranger in this body; a stranger in this room. And if she was stuck here, she needed to feel like it was her space. 

Becca got up and started throwing things in the back of the closet—CDs she had never heard of, clothes she would never wear, all of Bella’s books that she knew would never read. Becca put the Jung books on top of the dresser for display but kept Bella’s thick paperback compilation of all of Jane Austen’s novels. They reminded her of Bennet and Lizzie. Otherwise, she emptied the bookshelf. When she did go to Port Angeles, if she did indeed go on Monday, she would do a shopping spree. There were about a hundred dollars in Bella’s wallet—certainly not enough to do much with, but enough that she could at least find a few things that she liked. 

Charlie was also an option. She knew that he would give her more money if she could bring herself to ask him. 

Becca went through the closet, throwing clothes she knew she would never wear on the ground. Bella Swan’s wardrobe was so basic and bare. She must have dressed to fit in, rather than to look good. It bothered Becca tremendously. While her own fashion had been troubled over the years, she felt she had developed her own style somewhere in college, and she longed for her familiar items, even just for comfort. 

And her shoes. She missed all of her shoes dearly. 

There were several ways for her to handle this depression. The toughest part would be figuring it out herself. The brain was complicated enough on its own, but to examine the complexities of her mind in an altered reality felt next to impossible. 

Any medication was out—besides the fact that she didn’t have access to any herself, Becca knew absolutely nothing about antidepressants in the early 2000s. She knew that they had been developed in the 1980s, but she also knew that they had not been common enough to talk about until around 2008. Becca also remembered reading side effects of these drugs in this decade, in particular one where SSRIs caused hallucinations. 

Therapy was also a no go. While it was way more socially acceptable back home, she knew that there was a deep and dangerous stigma around it here. Besides, one mention of what was happening to her and she’d become her own case study. 

The only option was to deal with it: to perfect a combination of overstimulation and relaxation. The only way out then was to just do. When she’d been in college, she'd had to do a semester of counseling college students at the free mental health clinic. They’d learned several key phrases and scenarios to use with students, taglines for dealing with the anxiety and depression epidemics that were plaguing the student body. The most practical one was to advise students whenever they felt that life was impossible, whenever they felt that depression and helplessness seeping in, to just get up and do something. Anything--brush your teeth, make your bed, make a list, put your laundry away. 

Becca took a deep breath. She would have to take her own advice and keep herself busy. 

She stripped the sheets off the bed and threw them into the wicker laundry basket.

* * *

The weekend passed without any mishaps. Becca threw herself into cleaning and reorganizing, which kept her from feeling much of the sadness. There wasn’t much to do, but she went through every clothing item that Bella owned and cleaned the room, ridding all of the surfaces of dust and wiping down the window. The more that she kept herself busy, the easier it became for her to pretend this was normal. 

The only time she would falter was when she would see the truck outside the window. When she was alone in Charlie’s house, it was a constant reminder that she was trapped here. 

Jessica called once, Friday after school, to tell her that she and Mike were going to have dinner on Saturday night. Jessica didn’t seem at all suspicious as to why Becca had missed school—why would she? The girl didn’t even mention Becca's absence other than to report how awful trig had been and how she'd had to work with Jamie in Spanish. Still, Becca kept her cheerful attitude towards all of Jessica's complaints and wished that she and Mike had a good date. She also made Jessica promise to call and update her, which she could tell made Jessica happy. Jessica was the type of person who liked to make things into a big deal. Now that Becca had decided to fully live in the moment here, she had to do what she could to appease Jessica. 

Charlie left to go fishing both Saturday and Sunday. Once he was gone, Becca took the opportunity to go through everything in the small den. There was a bookshelf that held old magazines and a trophy that said ‘Best Police Chief.’ Charlie’s collection of VHS tapes, it turned out, was much more extensive than that of his DVDs. There were still several movies she’d never heard of, but there were copies of _Aladdin_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ , which she guessed were from Bella’s childhood. 

There was also a paper television listing that announced upcoming premiers of TV shows. It turned out that Grey’s Anatomy _did_ exist in this reality. It would premier on March 27, which was also Becca’s birthday. The only problem was that there was only one TV in the house—she’d have to figure out how to watch it while Charlie was catching up on his shows. 

It made Becca wonder what existed in this reality and what didn’t. In a few years, for instance, would One Direction become a band? Would James Cameron still film _Avatar_? Would Justin Bieber still absorb the spotlight soon?

* * *

By the time she woke up on Monday, Becca had convinced herself to treat this time as a gift, at least for the time being. She found herself reverting to her earlier thought process from realizing that she was in Forks. Bella Swan was beautiful, and she had two parents who loved her dearly. Though Becca longed for the East Coast, the parts of the Pacific Northwest she’d seen so far were stunning. And while some parts of her life still felt hazy, the parts of it she could remember led her to the conclusion that her life might not have been as great as she had thought. 

This time was, therefore, a chance to do things over. How many people could say that they led two different lives, no matter how illogical it seemed? She really could take this time and learn to do things she’d always wanted. Becca could get some hobbies—enroll in a gymnastics class, learn to paint, go skydiving. Do all of those things she had always been too scared to try. 

She could choose a different path besides social work. She could become a teacher, or go to medical school, or learn how to sing and become a musician. 

She could fall in love. 

She could be happy. 

And because of this change in emotions, Monday morning felt exceptionally better than Friday. Even Charlie noticed. 

“You’re in a good mood today,” he commented. 

“I’m excited for school,” she answered, drinking her orange juice. Even the orange juice here tasted better. She looked at the carton—it was made in California. Huh. Somewhere in the past few weeks, she’d forgotten that Washington was only a state away from California. “I missed Jess and Angela.” 

“I’m glad you’re happy here, Bells. I was worried…last week you seemed like you were having second thoughts about moving here.” 

She sat down at the table and propped her legs on the seat beside her. “No second thoughts here, Dad. I’m happy as can be.” 

Charlie smiled so big that Becca couldn’t help but smile back at him. Bella Swan’s dad did love her—she wondered if Bella Swan ever knew just how lucky she was. 

Becca found herself hoping that Edward and Alice would be at school even though they’d said otherwise; she was considering telling him her story. Part of it, at least. He already had some idea of the strangest part—that she wasn’t from this time—anything else was just coloring in the details. It would also help her to feel more rooted and allow her to manage her emotions if she handed off her problems to someone else instead of keeping them all pent up inside her head. And to his credit, Edward did seem all too eager to hear them, too. Though she wasn’t sure whether that was a reflection of the challenge and the unknown that she posed to him or if he actually would like to know. 

But when she looked up at how brightly the sun was shining that morning, her hope disappeared. She knew that the Cullens wouldn’t be there. 

“Oh, Bella,” Angela said as soon as Becca reached her. She handed Becca a bagel, which Becca took gratefully. Sooner or later, Becca was going to have to figure out a way to start doing the grocery shopping at Charlie’s house. The man was truly awful at it. “I’m _so_ sorry that I got you sick. Will you ever forgive me?” 

Becca blinked at the apology. “Of course, Angela. It isn’t your fault.” 

Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Becca watched her as she backed out of the driveway and onto the road. Angela was so good and kind. Becca worried it might affect her badly at some point, the way that she so eagerly cared for others and gave so much of herself to everyone around her. 

“It was awful, wasn’t it?” Angela said. She was chattering so much for once that Becca guessed that the weekend had been lonely for her too. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sick in my life.” 

“Me either,” Becca answered, staring out of the window. Forks looked different in the sun--everyone seemed so happy. Even the trees looked different. 

The day went well, considering. Mike acknowledged her again—he smiled and asked if she was feeling better. Eric joined the conversation, too. He and Angela were going to the dance together. Though Becca knew that Angela didn’t have feelings for Eric, she was glad that it was Eric she was going with. He was genuine and pure-hearted. 

Jessica spent every free moment of the two periods and lunch, when Mike couldn’t hear, describing every detail of her date with Mike. They hadn’t kissed yet, but Jessica was ecstatic because she was certain that they would at the dance. Becca listened patiently, smiling at all the right moments, and giving Jessica the encouragement that she needed. 

But Becca couldn’t deny that she was glad when she, Angela, and Jessica reached Jess’s car. 

Lauren was out sick, having caught the same stomach bug as Angela, so she would not be joining them on the Port Angeles trip. 

Jessica turned the radio up as she drove, and Becca settled into the backseat happily. She even knew some of the songs. “Let Me Love You,” though she knew it not because of Mario, but because of Zayn Malik, and “1, 2, Step” by Missy Elliot. Jessica sang emphatically to the second one, moving around so much that she hit the rumble strips on the side of the road and had to jerk the car back over into the lane. 

Port Angeles was a nice difference from the monotony of Forks. The welcome sign read that there were 19,321 residents, and the mountains were in the distance as Jessica drove into the city center. The traffic wasn’t bad, and Becca was grateful to see civilization. There was a McDonalds, a Blockbuster, and a Wal-Mart all on the same street. Jessica stopped two streets over at a department store. Becca had never heard the name before—it wasn’t a chain. If it was, she wasn't familiar with it.

But she was so eager to shop that she nearly skipped towards the entrance, walking several steps ahead of Angela and Jessica.

That morning, Charlie had given her three-hundred dollars to spend; he’d seemed ecstatic to do so, actually, when he found out that she wanted to redecorate her room. It represented that she was settling in, that she wouldn’t go running off back to Renee. But Becca wasn’t used to being given money—her parents had only given her money when they absolutely had to, the rest she’d had to earn on her own—so she’d had to control her face at so readily being given such a large chunk of money. Charlie seemed so eager to give it to her that she made a mental note to ask him for more later, just to make him happy. 

Jessica and Angela headed straight for the junior’s section. Becca hung back and walked towards the home goods department. She’d already decided on a few things she wanted: a candle or two, some wall décor, a throw blanket if she could find it. But she was surprised, looking at the prices on the shelves, how much farther the money Charlie had given her would go. 

Her cart was full before she knew it. There was just so much she wanted that she hadn’t thought about—a small blue rug, new curtains, pillows, a lamp. She was able to find a small makeup mirror and a few posters that she liked enough to buy. Destiny’s Child, it appeared, had been big this year, as well as Mariah Carey and Jesse McCartney. She added a poster of each to her cart. She liked them all fine enough, and she knew that they would still make her seem like a teenager to Charlie. 

Satisfied with her decisions, she headed back towards Angela and Jessica. Neither of them had chosen dresses yet, though it looked like Angela was getting close to choosing a pale pink one. She ventured off to look at shoes after a while, but Jessica was still in the throes of searching. 

Becca glanced at the watch she’d found in Bella's dresser. It was nearing six p.m.—if she wanted to make it to the Blockbuster two streets over, she would have to leave soon. 

“Jess,” Becca asked, watching as Jessica scrutinized herself in the mirror. There was a limited number of dresses in the store, but Jessica had already tried on most of them twice. “Do you think I could put my stuff in your car?” 

Jessica looked at her in the mirror. “What is all of that? Are you redecorating?” 

“Yeah,” Becca answered, sheepishly. “My room is still the same as when I was a kid, so…” 

Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Understood. Yeah, go ahead. The car is unlocked.” 

Becca tried not to react to this. Leaving your car unlocked in Trenton was a death wish. “I think I’m also going to go by Blockbuster. Can I meet you and Angela at the Italian place for dinner?” 

Jessica’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Can you see if they have Prisoner of Azkaban? I’ve been wanting to see it, but I missed it when it was in theaters in December and we don’t have it in Forks yet.” 

Becca frowned. “Prisoner of Azkaban? As in Harry Potter?” 

“Duh,” Jessica rolled her eyes. “They close at six, so you better go if you want to make it in time. We’ll meet you at La Bella Italia on the boardwalk in like a half-hour? I think I’m gonna get this dress.” 

Becca nodded. She herself would never wear it—it was a strapless sparkly blue dress that reminded her of the galaxy trend in 2020. But it suited Jessica’s skin, and she looked happy enough in it. “You look great, Jess.” 

Jessica didn’t acknowledge her compliment and Becca turned around and steered her cart towards the registers. There wasn’t a line and the man who rung her up smiled at her so much that by the fourth time, she was certain that he was flirting with her. Becca ignored him, making sure not to even smile, and looking away as much as she could. He was probably about twenty-five, which would have been somewhat okay if she looked like Becca Fitzgerald. But she did not; she looked like a seventeen-year-old girl, and that was creepy and unacceptable. 

He rang up her purchases and made sure to triple wrap the breakable pieces. Becca was annoyed with how long he was taking and kept anxiously checking her watch. If he kept this up, she was going to have to sprint to Blockbuster, and she certainly did not want to do that. Her shoes--ballet flats--were not conducive to that behavior. 

The man did ring her up with his discount, though. Yet even with his discount, Becca was surprised by how much cheaper the total was than she’d expected. The number of things she’d bought would have been well over $400 if she’d bought it at Target back home. Here, it was only a little over $100. She had plenty of money left over for movies and clothes. 

For a moment, she wished that she could go back to 2020, even it was just to complain about how real inflation was. 

After putting her things in the backseat of Jessica’s car, Becca began walking in the direction of the street that they'd driven past when she’d seen the Blockbuster. The sun had set, but the sky wasn’t yet dark. The traffic was building up around her, but it made her feel safer to know there were people around. It almost made her feel like she was back home in one of the cities.

Becca had no problem finding the Blockbuster store. She’d spent several weekends of her life in New York or Philly either alone or with her friends, and nothing about this puny city could compare to that. But she was three minutes late, and the older, red-haired woman working would not let her in. Had Becca been back home, she might have tried to weasel her way inside—but people in the Pacific Northwest seemed to be built differently than those back East. 

So, she did some mental calculating instead. There had to be at least one other store that sold movies around here. Part of her plan was to find comfort movies to watch the next time she felt depressed— _Legally Blonde_ , _13 Going on 30_ , _Mean Girls_. She still needed to check if the 2005 Keira Knightley version of _Pride and Prejudice_ had been released. 

She walked towards the direction of the boardwalk, where she was supposed to meet Jessica and Angela, hoping there would be a tourist trap shop that sold movies. There was a whole row of glass-fronted shops, which she headed towards. But the closer she got to them, the more she realized none of them looked promising. One of them was a repair shop and another was an infant clothing boutique. 

Becca kept walking south. The walking was nice—the temperature was warmer than usual, though it was quickly dropping. 

It wasn’t until she looked up and realized that the buildings around her were mostly warehouses that she realized she must have taken a wrong turn. She stopped and looked all around her. It was dusk now, and wherever she had ended up had made her bypass most of the traffic. She could still hear cars, but she couldn’t see them. She was isolated. 

She took a deep breath. Whatever. 

Becca considered herself to have a superior sense of spatial intelligence. She had always prided herself on her sense of direction—unlike her sister Lizzie or most of her friends, she could remember the way without looking at a GPS or having directions after only being somewhere once. All Becca had to do was head back the way she’d come; she’d turn left at the corner of the next block, which would take her back towards the city center. 

She would have been completely fine were it not for the men who turned around the exact corner she was walking towards. 

Her stomach dropped at the sight of them. This was not a scene she wanted to be a part of. All four of them were dressed casually and in their early twenties if she had to guess. Two of them were heavier than the others, perhaps athletes of some type. All of them were all laughing and joking with each other—definitely part of the boy’s club. Becca kept her head down and tried to act as if she belonged and had a purpose being in this deserted area. 

“Hey, there!” One of the men called. It came from the one who appeared to be the oldest, maybe about twenty-two. He was wearing a flannel shirt over a stained white t-shirt with sandals and he had a light brown, unkempt beard. 

Becca ignored him and kept walking, keeping her head down. It was rule one of growing up in the cities: you never talked to people on the street. She was stupid to not have taken anything with her besides the money, which was pushed into her pocket…did Bella even own pepper spray? Becca had a little pink taser on her keychain back home.

“Hey, wait!” A different voice called from behind her. This one was deeper but had laughter in it. 

Becca ignored him too, walking a bit faster. Her heart was racing now. She had to be only a block or two away from the turn that led back to the boardwalk. 

The buildings on the right side of the street were all the backs of gray warehouses. She took another turn and came to an abrupt stop, her breathing coming quicker now. She’d gone in the wrong direction again. The end of the street was covered in a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. 

Becca was going to have to go back the way she had just come. 

Perhaps her spatial sense only worked on the East Coast. 

Darkness had fallen completely, and it was already much colder than a few minutes prior. She shivered, wishing she’d thought to bring the jacket that she’d left in the backseat of Jessica’s car. 

When she turned back around, two of the men were walking quietly a few feet behind her. 

They were following her. 

She was racking her brain from the self-defense classes she’d taken in high school and debating whether she should let them know that she knew they were following her—it might scare them off. Men reacted one of two ways to women who were smarter than them: either with rage or intimidation. It was possible, after all, that these men were drunk. They’d been boisterous enough for it. Becca speed-walked as fast as she could as she made a wide loop around them. Maybe if she jogged it wouldn’t alert them; men were pretty stupid. 

She quickly took another right turn around the corner and came to an abrupt stop again. This just led to the back of another warehouse building. What exactly was in Port Angeles that led to the need for at least a dozen warehouse buildings? 

Becca glanced over her shoulder as she went back down the main sidewalk. The men were probably forty feet behind her, but they were both staring at her. Goosebumps lined her arms. She had walked down some of the sketchiest streets of Manhattan, walked past infamous blocks of face slashers in the Bronx, lived the early years of her life in the Trenton projects, and the tiny, unimportant city of Port Angeles, Washington was where some men decided to chase her down? 

She took another turn at a corner, this one heading back towards the boardwalk--she was certain of it. Then she halted at the sight of the other two men in the group smiling delightedly at her, maybe fifteen feet away. 

The two that had been following her were now twenty feet behind. 

They had trapped her. 

“There you are!” The chubby man who had greeted her first boomed. 

“Yeah,” one of the men behind her said. "We just took a detour.” 

Becca had stopped walking. She was turning around in a circle, keeping eyes on all of them. She had nothing with her but the money. If it really came to it, she supposed she could kick them. But there wasn’t much she could do to fend off all four of them on her own. 

“Stay the fuck away from me,” she growled as the most vocal man walked towards her. 

All four of them laughed. 

“She’s feisty,” the blond one said. 

“I like it,” a different one added. 

Becca continued to turn around in a circle looking at each of them. There were lights in the distance, coming from cars. If she screamed, someone would hear her, but she wasn’t sure how long it would take for them to find her. She gauged the men the best she could—her mind was hyperactive, jumping from one idea to the next. She would have just one chance to run in the right direction and find someone, otherwise one or all of the men would reach her first. If only she had worn better shoes. 

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stockiest man, forcing him to jump back from it. Becca dove towards the car, expecting it to hit her, but it skidded to a stop just inches away. The passenger side door was flung open. 

“Get in,” he snapped. 

It was Edward. 

Of course. 

It was very dark inside his car. Becca couldn’t see his face, but she knew that it was him. She held her hands to her chest and breathed in deeply, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. Becca felt so cold, drenched in her fear. She buried her face in her hands and drew her legs up towards her in the seat—she was crying without even realizing it. 

“Put your seat belt on,” Edward ordered, not quite as forceful as before. 

Becca didn’t respond. 

“Bella,” he ordered. “Put. On. Your. Seatbelt.” 

Becca fumbled for the belt blindly in the dark. She felt nauseous now like her body had worked itself too much. As if she had just run the mile too fast in gym class and was seconds away from throwing up. 

She covered her face again, trying to slow her breathing. When she looked up, they were far away from the corner. Becca hadn’t even realized he’d been driving—his driving was so smooth. 

“Bella?” Edward asked. His voice sounded far away. Tight, controlled, angry. 

Becca looked over at him. 

“Are you alright?” 

“No,” she answered honestly. She was still shaking, even though Edward had the heat on full blast. And she still felt like she was in danger, even though she knew she was safe with him. Her time in Forks was beginning to feel like a tango—one step forward, one step back. 

Was it only this morning that she had decided to live her best life here in Forks? Had that really only been just hours ago? 

Edward stayed silent. She did too. 

The car came to a sudden stop, and she looked up again. It was too dark to see much, but he had pulled over on the shoulder of the road. There were trees in the distance, and she could see Port Angeles looming behind them. In just minutes, he’d driven out of the city. 

He had his head leaning against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the car. When Becca’s breathing was normal, she called his name softly.

“Are you okay?” 

“Not really,” he answered. 

She felt her heart flutter in response—was it because she wasn’t okay? 

“I have a problem with my temper,” he continued, speaking slowly. “But it wouldn’t be helpful for us to turn around and hunt down those…” he looked out of his window. “At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.” 

The thought of being around those men again made her fear return. Even though she knew that he was stronger than all of them, that he would never let anything happen to her, she didn’t ever want to see them again. 

“Please don’t,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to look at her, but she kept her eyes trained on her fingers, tearing at her cuticles. It was an old habit of Becca’s, but she’d never done it as Bella. “Edward…I can’t…I don’t want to be near them.” 

He didn’t respond, but he made no move to turn the car around, either. They both listened as her breathing slowed down to normal. Becca looked at the clock on the dashboard—six-forty. 

“I have to meet Jessica and Angela,” she whispered. “I’m late.” 

Edward didn’t answer, but he pulled the car onto the road and went speeding back into town. The street lights were quickly above them, and he weaved through the other cars, cruising towards the boardwalk. He parallel-parked against the curb, and for the first time since she encountered those men, Becca felt another emotion—jealousy. She had never been able to parallel park well. It was the reason she’d failed her driver’s test and had to retake it. 

Becca was about to say as much, but Edward got out of the car and slammed his door. Within seconds, he was waiting for her on the sidewalk. 

“Go stop Jessica and Angela before we have to track them down,” he ordered. 

Becca shivered but went jogging towards them, where she could see them pacing. They rushed towards her, too.

“Where have you been?” Jessica demanded. 

“I got lost,” Becca admitted. Though he made no sound, she knew he had stepped up behind her because of the expression on Jessica's face. “And then I ran into Edward.”

“Would it be alright if I joined you?” Edward asked. 

“Um…sure,” Jessica agreed. 

“Um, Actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting—sorry.” 

“That’s fine,” she shrugged. No part of her wanted to eat right now. “I’m not hungry.” 

“I think you should eat something,” Edward said in a tone so low that only Becca could hear him. He looked at Jessica and spoke up slightly louder. “Do you mind if I drive Bella home? That way you won’t have to wait.” 

“Um, no problem…” Jessica bit her lip, trying to figure out what Becca wanted. Becca smiled softly—she would much rather be with Edward than Jessica. No doubt about it. 

“Okay,” Angela said after looking over Bella's face, finalizing the decision. She grabbed Jessica’s hand and pulled her towards the car. As they walked away, Becca suddenly remembered her purchases. 

“Wait, Jess!” she called loud enough for them to hear her across the street. She was already crossing the parking lot towards them, Edward easily keeping up with her. “My stuff!” 

Becca looked both ways before she crossed the street, twice, being more careful than ever. Jessica was still staring at her suspiciously, but more curiously now, as Becca opened the backseat door. There were only five bags or so, and her backpack. She bit her lip, wondering how she was going to carry everything. 

She was about to ask Edward for help, but he was already beside her, reaching for the bags. He stood close beside her but was careful not to let his body touch hers. 

Edward only left her backpack for her to carry. Both Jessica and Angela were staring at him, eyes wide as he walked away.

“Bella,” he called for her over his shoulder as he walked towards the Volvo. “Come on.” 

Jessica frowned at Bella. “Details, Swan. You owe me _details_.”

“Later,” Becca promised. She felt so unsettled that it was difficult for her to act even remotely normal around them. 

She told the girls to drive safe, hoping they would go straight home and not venture back into the city, and jogged back towards Edward’s car. Only when she put her backpack into the car, did she notice that she’d left her jacket in the backseat. She glanced back, but Jessica was already speeding down the street. 

Edward was waiting for her on the sidewalk. “Honestly, Edward, I’m not hungry.” 

His expression was unreadable. 

“Can we just go?” she pressed. "I'm unbelievably tired, and I'd like to get home." 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bella, I think you should eat something.” 

“I will,” she promised. “When I’m hungry. And I really don’t want to eat in front of you, because you don’t eat anything and it’s weird.” 

Edward frowned down at her. “Please, Bella.” 

“No. If I get hungry, I’ll make a sandwich when I get home.” 

They stared at each other. 

“Listen, Edward… I really, really don’t want to be around people right now. You’re the exception. So, can we just go, please?” 

“The exception,” he repeated flatly. 

Becca sighed and turned back around, reaching for the door handle. It was in vain; unlike Jessica, he’d locked the doors. But before she could turn around to say anything, she heard the click of the lock and he was suddenly right behind her, opening the door for her. 

“Thanks,” she muttered. He shut the door behind her, crossed in front of the car, and got in. Within a minute or two, they were speeding back down the dark highway. 

If she looked at him hard enough, she could tell that he was frowning down at the steering wheel. He’d turned the radio on, and something faint and classical was playing. It was calming. She still felt frazzled but was also surprised by how okay she was now that she knew they were far enough from Port Angeles that there was no chance of her running into those men again.

“You still want to go and find them,” Becca stated, staring at how he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Yes,” he answered. His tone was flat. 

She brought her legs up to sit cross-legged in the seat. 

“It’s odd for me,” she mused. “I used to spend weekends in NYC and Philly. Both have populations extensively larger than Port Angeles. Yet nothing like what just happened has ever even come remotely close to happening to me.” 

She saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t speak. 

“It’s funny. It’s almost like I’m a magnet,” she continued. She laughed once, but without humor. “These weird things keep happening to me while I’m here, but never once has a car almost crushed me or a group of men herded me into a corner.” 

“A magnet,” he said quietly. “For what?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Danger, maybe.” 

The classical music piece ended and switched to a new one. She’d heard this one before—Vivaldi, named after something to do with the weather. 

“Bella…” he trailed off. He sounded unsure. “How old are you? Really.” 

She bit her lip and looked out of the window. She couldn’t make out any of the landscape, but she guessed that they were nearly back to Forks. 

“Bella,” he prompted when she didn’t answer.

Becca took a deep breath. It was now or never. 

“It’s Becca,” she told him. 

“What?” he frowned. He gave her his full attention, his eyes searching hers, even though he was speeding down a very curvy road. 

“I was born in 1996. March 27, actually. It’s almost my birthday. I’m an Aries. Are you a Taurus? You seem like a Taurus.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows; he probably thought this incident had caused her to lose her mind. Several moments went by before he said anything, yet her heart quickened with each one. 

“You aren’t nine years old,” he said quietly. 

“No. I thought we’d already addressed this,” she frowned. “You’re the one who suggested it when you told me about the neurotech of the time.” 

He held the steering wheel with one hand, and his other hand was wrapped around his jaw. He was still staring at her, his eyes unreadable. Yet they hadn’t so much as even come close to running off the road. 

“I don’t understand,” he admitted finally. 

She nodded once, then looked back out of the window. 

“How is that possible?” 

“I don’t know. How is it possible that you are a vampire?” she questioned. “That doesn’t fit in with the times. Your species doesn’t exactly make much sense, either.” 

Becca didn’t look over at him as she said this, but she heard his sharp intake of breath. From outside the window, she saw the sign welcoming them to Forks. He had driven so fast that they’d reached the town in a third of the time that it had taken Jessica earlier. 

Edward cleared his throat. “How is it that you know so much about me, Bella, when I know hardly anything about you?” 

They were in front of Charlie’s house, now. The lights were on and the truck was parked out front. Edward stopped the car, but neither of them moved. 

It was now or never, Becca reminded herself. She just had to rip it off like a band-aid. 

“My name is Becca,” she told him instead. “Not Bella. My name is Rebecca Fitzgerald.” 

As he took this in, Edward looked like he might have a stroke. 

“I don’t want to tell you everything,” she continued. “At least not yet. You know, trust is earned, like I said before. I’m not sure why I’m here. But I’m not Isabella Swan. I have her body, but I have my brain. I can’t make much sense of any of it yet. No one knows this, either.” She added, then frowned. “Except you. So, don’t tell anyone.” 

Becca traced the door handle with her finger, waiting for him to say something. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him everything. She would have to observe how he reacted to all of this in the coming days before she gave him any additional information. 

“Rebecca,” Edward said. He cleared his throat. “Rebecca, like the novel by du Maurier. Because your mother is an English teacher.” 

“You remembered,” she said, biting her lip and looking at him in surprise. 

They stared at each other. Becca felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. 

“I don’t forget much,” he said. He smiled wryly. “I found it quite odd that a woman would name two of her three children after Jane Austen characters, while the name Isabella is seldom used in British literature. Renee just didn’t seem like the type to name her children after book characters.” 

Becca laughed. “I’ve never read either of them. I’m not big on reading.” 

“Except for psychology,” he said immediately. “Why is that, do you think?” 

She looked back at Charlie’s house. She saw a shadow move in front of the window and guessed that it was Charlie. She would need to end this conversation before he became suspicious and came outside. 

Becca shrugged. “That’s easy. I was a social worker.” 

“Social work,” he murmured. He turned in his seat so that his body was fully angled towards hers. “Tell me. How old are you, exactly? Back home, that is. You never told me.” 

She examined his face. “Twenty-four. I would be twenty-five in a week and a half.” 

He nodded. His forehead was still creased, but it didn’t seem as though this knowledge was quite as unexpected as she thought it would be. “This must be very difficult for you, then. Being in a seventeen-year-old's body as an adult.” 

She laughed. “You have no idea.” 

He tilted his head. “I do, but I’m sure you might already know that.” 

Becca gave no indication one way or the other, and they fell back into silence. She was relieved that he had taken this so coolly. She felt nice, having someone know part of her truth. Although she’d been feeling better the entire weekend, this was undeniably the best she’d felt since being here. 

His expression suddenly turned worried. “Would it be alright if I picked you up for school tomorrow?” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t…I don’t know how to explain this, exactly,” he said. She could tell that he was choosing his words carefully. “But it makes me anxious to be without you. When I don’t know where you are, I get worried. I feel drawn to you.” 

His eyes were anxious, though whether it was because of her response to his statement or her answer to his question, she didn’t know. Becca felt wound up again, and Edward’s gaze didn’t help as she contemplated what to say back. Of course, she was starting to feel the same way about him. But something about it still felt wrong. Like it wasn’t supposed to happen. Like it should be forbidden. 

Finally, she nodded. “I’ll call Angela and let her know. Will Alice be coming too?” 

His forehead creased. “Would you like her to come? She’ll probably want to ride with Jasper, but I’m sure she’d be willing to ride with us if that would make you feel better.” 

He seemed so hesitant, worried that she would say no. 

“I don’t mind if it’s just you, Edward.” She busied herself with unbuckling her seatbelt. She could feel her face flushing and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. “But I should get inside before Charlie notices that this isn’t Jessica’s car and asks a lot of questions I’m not prepared to answer.”

She opened her car door, glancing behind her at all of the bags in the backseat, and sighed. It was going to take her at least two trips to get it all inside, which was long enough for Charlie to notice that she wasn’t with the girls. God forbid Charlie volunteer to help her bring them in, only to realize she was with Edward Cullen. He'd probably grown her for lying. 

But Edward was already out of the car holding all five of her bags in his arms before she even put her feet on the ground. “I’ll put these on the porch for you.” 

He was back beside her before Becca had shouldered her backpack and closed the car door. They stood just inches apart. Becca’s head was tilted upwards, and his was angled downwards. She was surprised that he was willing to trust her so readily, so easily, when all he now knew about her was her age and her real name. But his eyes were probing her—they looked more caramel now with the light of the streetlights. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured. 

Part of her wanted to reach out and grasp him, just to touch his hand or his cheek, but she suspected that he wouldn’t like it. She looked at him for a moment longer, then turned and headed towards the house. 

“Oh, and Becca?” he called. She glanced back at him. “I’m a Gemini. Not a Taurus.” 

They stared at each other for a beat, then Becca smiled at him from ear to ear. Edward’s face mirrored hers. 

She was mostly delighted just to hear her real name again. 

Becca stood in the driveway and watched as he got back inside his car, and she waited until he had driven away before heading towards the steps. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt the need to run. She picked up two of the bags and opening the door. 

She headed inside, feeling so happy that she might burst. 

Oh, how her attitude could change things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so a few things: 
> 
> First, I woke up this morning having passed 100 kudos on this story, which made my entire day! I always say this, but I really do appreciate all of you for reading, commenting, and showing support. There's a lot going on in the world at the moment, and it's SO nice to have this to work on. 
> 
> Second, in the coming chapters, we'll have more info about what exactly Becca remembers from Twilight. Edward certainly isn't done with his questions or sleuthing. 
> 
> Third, as with Twilight, there will be some lighter, happier chapters before everything goes to shit. 
> 
> As usual, please feel free to let me know any of your thoughts! Stay safe!!! :)


	9. Theory

The first thing that Becca saw upon waking was Jesse McCartney’s face, and it did indeed make her feel more like herself. Or, at least, that she was in an environment that she had cultivated. She’d plastered Jesse above the dresser and Destiny’s Child beside the window and the room already looked much better. She still had a way to go with making it feel more lived in, but it was a definite improvement from before. She’d spent about an hour rearranging the room last night after she’d given Charlie a few details about the trip to Port Angeles (being sure to leave out the part where she was chased down by men, assuming that he would be hesitant to never let her out again after that). With his help, she’d moved the bed to a different spot on the wall, filled the bookshelf with the candles and décor she’d bought, and changed the curtains. While no part of it looked like any room she’d owned before, it was somewhat reminiscent of herself, and it made her feel like she belonged. 

The most noticeable switch was that she’d changed the yellow lace curtains out for black, but it was so dark outside the window that morning that it didn’t make a difference in the room whether or not they were open. Due to the lack of light outside, Becca was wary of the temperature, missing the days when she could ask Alexa how warm it was outside. She dressed in the warmest clothes she could find, but her jacket was still in Jessica’s car.

And there were only so many options with Bella’s closet. Shopping for clothing was still a must. 

Charlie was already gone when she went downstairs. Becca frowned—she hadn’t realized how much she was looking forward to those small conversations with him. A glance at the microwave clock told her that she was running late. She attempted to peer out of the window to see if she could see Edward’s car, but it was to no avail; it was much too foggy for her to see anything. 

And if Edward Cullen had been joking, if he didn’t pick her up today, she’d have no ride. She’d already called and canceled on Angela, and as far as she could tell, neither she nor Jessica had cellphones. Becca wasn’t going to walk to the high school in this weather, either. Not that missing school would really affect her much. She could continue decorating and look over the course catalog for Peninsula College she’d gotten from Mrs. Cope yesterday. 

Quarter classes were being offered, but she had to decide by the end of the week if she wanted to take one…

But, almost as if he knew she was worrying, there was a knock on the door. Two gentle taps, so subtle that she wouldn’t have heard it had she not been paying attention. 

Becca slid her feet into her shoes and grabbed her backpack before swinging the door open. 

He wasn’t smiling at first and his eyes were anxious, but then he looked down and the corners of his lips lifted. 

“Good morning,” Edward greeted. 

“Hi,” she said back. Her face flamed, though she wasn’t quite sure why. 

He held up a beige denim jacket for her. “I brought this for you. I noticed that you didn’t have one last night and I didn’t want you to get sick.” 

Edward wasn’t wearing a jacket himself, just a light long-sleeve gray knit sweater. Becca ran her eyes over his chest, taking in the way that the fabric clung to his muscles, and swallowed. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is _wrong,_ she chanted over and over in her head. Though he’d lived over a century, he was frozen forever at seventeen—his frontal lobe was a lot less developed than hers. Did that matter? 

She peeked up at him to make sure he still couldn’t hear her. 

“Becca?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows when she neither spoke nor took the jacket from him.

She sucked in a breath, taken aback by the use of her own name. She hadn’t expected Edward to already be so fluid with its use, certain that it would take at least a few days for him to call her it regularly. Her eyes stung and she blinked. It was odd how the use of a single word could make her so emotional. Why had she never considered the beauty of her name before? Was it only because Edward was the one using it? 

Should she even allow him to use the name Becca? 

She took a deep breath and reached for his jacket. 

“Thank you,” she told him. Edward watched as she put it on, so her movements were awkward and clumsy. She was used to wearing slightly larger jackets anyway, but Bella’s body was very tiny, so the jacket hung off of her by quite a bit. 

“You’re welcome,” he answered. This time when he smiled, his eyes did too. Edward pushed the door open further. “Shall we?” 

Becca felt her stomach flutter again. She was undeniably a feminist. She believed in dismantling the patriarchy and in equal rights and equity. But there was something particularly attractive about Edward Cullen’s attentiveness and manners. 

Even with the addition of his jacket, it was still freezing as she followed him down the driveway. She wrapped her arms around herself. It was way too cold for the middle of March. 

Edward held open the passenger side door for her, and Becca saw with relief that the car was on. She smiled at him in gratitude and sat down, putting on her seatbelt and setting her backpack on the floorboard. There was no music inside, so the sound of the heat filled the space. Perhaps it was because she was wearing his jacket, but the car smelt more like him than usual, a mixture of lilac and honey. It was a scent so nice you couldn’t buy it even in the most expensive stores. 

It was so foggy that Becca would have had a problem driving, but Edward backed out onto the road effortlessly. They rode in silence. Only when they passed the Forks hardware store did Becca turn and look at Edward. 

“You don’t have any questions for me today?” she asked. “There isn’t anything else you’d like to know?” 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Oh, I have _plenty_ of questions for you.” 

Becca fought back a giggle. 

“However,” he continued, weaving around a car in front of them. “I decided I’d let you tell me more. When you’re ready.” 

“That’s very generous of you,” Becca admitted. “Does that mean I can ask you questions, then?” 

He looked slightly confused. His eyebrows furrowed. “Of course. But I was under the impression that you already knew everything about me.” 

She looked down at her lap, playing with her fingers. Her cuticles were still ruined from her anxiety over the weekend and she gravitated towards them, pulling at them out of habit. “That’s not how it works.” 

“You don’t know everything about me, then?” 

“No,” she trailed off, staring out of the window now. They were maybe a minute away from school. She loved being in the car with him, but it was beginning to feel like a double-edged sword; he drove so quickly that she didn’t get to enjoy it. “I know a few things about you. The biggest ones, probably, like the vampirism and the telepath—sorry, mind-reading,” she corrected. She smiled. “I know you’re from Chicago, and that you’re like a billion years old, and that you play the piano incredibly well. But that’s it. Oh! And I know you’re a vegetarian. That you and your family don’t drink human blood.” 

Edward’s lips were pursed, and his jaw was clenched. He didn’t speak as he parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. Becca frowned and tried to remember which of her words were responsible for his obvious offense. 

He turned off the car and took the keys out of the ignition, but neither of them moved. Becca had no way of knowing how much time was passing, but it felt like years before he spoke again. 

“You say it so casually.” 

“What?” 

“What I am. You make it sound so indifferent. As if it doesn’t matter.” 

“Well, it doesn’t,” she frowned. “You have no control over it.” 

Edward was very careful not to look at her. He stared at his lap, out of the window, at the steering wheel. Anywhere but at her. Outside of the window, Eric and Angela were hurrying towards the English building. Becca kept her eyes trained on them as she waited for Edward to speak.

“I’m deplorable, Becca.” He said slowly. “Do you understand that?” 

She held back a sigh. “To be completely honest with you, Edward, I think you have serious self-esteem issues. You can’t help what you are, so why should you feel bad about it?” 

There was another long silence. Becca was worried that the bell was going to ring soon, judging by how empty the parking lot had gotten. She didn’t want to leave him. The world of Forks, which had only improved on Saturday, suddenly seemed to hold no interest for her without him. It bothered her that he felt so depressed. It felt irresponsible to leave him alone. 

She frowned—she sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

“Maybe…” he trailed off. She turned to look at him. “Perhaps you should take your own advice, Becca,” Edward said finally. 

His tone confused her. “What?” 

“If you can’t help that you’re here,” he said slowly, meeting her eyes. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t feel bad about it.” 

Becca’s eyebrows shot up, and she was about to ponder this when the bell rang. “Shoot,” she cried, hurrying to unbuckle her seatbelt, take her backpack, and push the door open all at once. “Mr. Masen is going to give me detention.” 

She was halfway across the courtyard when she remembered that she hadn’t answered him. She turned around and called after him, in what had been only Edward fashion up until now. 

“Edward?” 

He was just a few feet behind her, his hand resting on the door handle to the math building. 

“I don’t feel bad about being here anymore. At least not really.” 

She spun around on her heel without waiting for a response and jogged towards the English classroom. Mr. Masen didn’t give her a detention, but he did give her a glare and an extra writing assignment for homework.

* * *

The entire class, her thoughts were consumed by Edward. Becca did not know that she had ever felt this way about anyone in her entire life…not Justin Bieber in middle school, not Mikey, her high school boyfriend, not even Professor Montgomery, her extremely attractive, half-French, abnormal psychology professor. And Professor Montgomery really had it going for him. 

Becca thought of Edward’s smile, his perfect teeth and lips. His hair, the way it was both ginger and brown and capable of being in a shampoo commercial at any given moment. She thought of his eyes and his smell and his body and his _voice_. But mostly, what gave her the most comfort, was how safe he made her feel. Without a doubt, he was the reason she had become happier here. 

As much as she would like to give herself the credit. She really _was_ just a schoolgirl with a crush. 

She was so caught up in her thoughts that Mike Newton had to snap his fingers in front of her face twice at the end of class to get her attention. 

“Sorry, Mike,” Becca said, shaking her head and shoving her things into her back. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

He nodded, but still looked as if he didn’t believe her. Eric had already left, muttering something about needing to talk to someone, so Becca and Mike walked together. 

“How was Port Angeles?” he asked her as they walked into the courtyard. 

Becca winced as she remembered the men. “Didn’t live up to the hype, to tell you the truth.”

“Yeah,” he frowned. “I forgot you’re from Phoenix. I guess Port Angeles probably wasn’t a big deal at all for you.” 

“No,” she answered honestly, though it had nothing to do with Phoenix. Becca had never been. She tried to think of a way to salvage the mood of the conversation. “But Jessica got a cute dress for the dance!” 

Mike’s eyes lit up. “Really? Did she say anything about Saturday?” 

“She said she had a great time,” Becca filled in, racking her brain for any specific details that Jessica had given her. “She had a lot of fun.” 

“Really?” he asked, his eyes wide in excitement. 

“Yep. She’s looking forward to Saturday.” 

It was enough to appease Mike for the rest of their walk. 

In government, Becca’s mind returned to Edward. It was during a lecture about the importance of the appearance of politicians—the Nixon/Kennedy debate—that a certain thought struck Becca. She knew that Edward was interested in her, for now at least. But what happened when he knew everything about her? What happened when he realized how weird the situation was? When he realized that she wasn’t as interesting as she seemed? 

What was it about Bella Swan that kept him into her? Was it her blood? Was it the fact that he couldn’t read her thoughts? Becca suddenly wished she’d spent more time reading Twilight as an adult. 

Worse was the realization that if she were Becca, if she _looked_ like Becca, that was, Edward Cullen wouldn’t even give her a second glance. It was only because she was masked as Bella Swan that he had any real interest in her. She wanted him to like her for her, not because she was pretty like Bella or because she lived in the Swan house. 

All her life, that’s all she’d wanted—to be loved for who she really was, and not for the persona she put on. Being in a body that wasn’t her own undeniably exacerbated this desire. 

Due to this, she was absolutely in no mood to talk to Jessica when she reached trig. Becca took her time walking there, and Jessica definitely noticed. She glared at her as Becca sat down next to her. 

“Tell me everything!” Jessica ordered, punctuating her sentence by slapping the desk so hard several of their neighbors looked over and stared. 

“Like what?” Becca frowned. She glanced at the front of the room, wishing Mr. Varner would start class early for once. But there was little hope of this; the man was shuffling all the papers on his desk around to find the one he was looking for. 

“Details, Swan. You promised.” 

If Jessica only knew what had really happened last night, she wouldn’t be bothering her about it. Then again, Becca guessed, she probably still would. 

“He drove me home.” Becca shrugged. “Then picked me up this morning. Not a big deal.” 

“Was it like a date? Did you tell him to meet you in Port Angeles?” 

“No, I was very surprised to see him.” And extremely grateful. She shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up, but Jessica didn’t even notice. 

“Are you going to go out with him again?” Jessica demanded. 

“Um. Maybe?” 

“Wow,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head. “Edward Cullen.” 

“Yeah,” Becca agreed. She had that sinking feeling again that whatever was happening between her and Edward wasn’t going to last. “I know.” 

“Wait!” Jessica said. “Did he kiss you?” 

Becca was confused by the question at first. It seemed oddly forward for what they were. They hadn’t even touched, much less anything else. But Jessica didn’t know any of this, so Becca shook her head. “No.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, sounding as disappointed as she had over the phone on Saturday when she told Becca that she and Mike hadn’t yet kissed. 

Thankfully Mr. Varner started class before Jessica could say anything else and they were learning new material, so Jessica had to pay attention. Becca tried to concentrate on the math problems on the board, but she could feel the negativity slowly creeping up throughout her body. She was so angry at herself. She had been so happy the past few days; she had been absolutely ecstatic this morning. Why did she have to be the one to shatter her own happiness? 

As soon as the bell rang, Becca did what she could to switch the subject so that Jessica wouldn’t ask her any other questions. She didn’t feel like talking about Edward anymore, not when she could feel the pessimism brewing. Mike Newton was a safe subject, so they spent the walk to Mrs. Goff’s class dissecting his earlier comments to Becca, and then the entirety of the partner exercise in Spanish secretly speaking in English and brainstorming about how Jessica should interact with him when they saw him at lunch. 

Becca was now fully dreading lunch. She had convinced herself that Edward was likely already tired of her, especially now that she’d given him a rundown of everything, she already knew about him. Now that he had all of that information, he had nothing left to find out. He knew her secrets, too, which he could hang over her head like blackmail should she threaten to tell his family’s secret. 

Jessica was prattling on about her final revision of how she would say hi to Mike when they stepped out of the classroom and Becca came to a sudden halt. Edward was waiting for her, leaning against the wall. Jessica took one look at him and rolled her eyes. 

“See you later, Bella,” she called over her shoulder. Becca was too busy staring at Edward to respond. 

“Hello,” he greeted, his eyes searching her face. 

“Hi,” she said softly. Seeing him had knocked the breath out of her. 

Becca didn’t say anything else, and neither did he, so the walk to lunch was quiet. Everyone stared at them as they entered, including Edward’s own family, but Becca chose to ignore them especially. She kept her eyes trained on the bright yellow converse she was wearing instead. 

He led the way to the lunch line, though he continued to glance at her every few seconds. His expression was both puzzled and frustrated, a culmination of not understanding what was bothering her and consequently being irritated because of it. Stepping up to the counter, they waited in line side-by-side. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly. 

How could he tell she was upset just within a minute's walk? 

“Nothing,” she answered. 

He filled the tray with enough food for both of them, though Becca knew that he wouldn’t eat any of it. There was salad, pizza, fruit, chips, and enough drinks for Becca to be hydrated for the rest of the day. She certainly had no qualms about him paying, but she continued to stay silent. He glanced at her, worried, a couple of times, but didn’t speak up either. Edward led the way to the table they had sat at on Thursday with Alice. But today it was just Edward and Becca—Alice was seated across the room in-between Jasper and Rosalie. 

“Becca?” he questioned once they were sat across from each other. 

She looked up at him hesitantly. He pushed the tray of food towards her. The closest people to them were sophomores, but there was a table in between them. One of the sophomores was Ben Cheney, who was in trig with her. Becca caught his eye but looked away quickly. 

“What’s the matter?” Edward asked. She shook her head and reached down for an apple. She wasn’t hungry, but she bit into it anyway. Edward frowned at her. “Becca. Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing,” she responded, swallowing. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. “I’m just tired.” 

Becca picked up the pizza. The cafeteria was louder today—as it was so cold outside, the entire school had migrated indoors. She chewed slowly. It was the first time she’d tasted the pizza here at school, and it tasted like ordinary lunch pizza. She found herself missing pizza back home. She would give up her left hand for a pie from Trent City Pizzeria right then. 

“You say that you are tired a lot,” Edward commented. “Usually when you mean something entirely different.” 

Becca narrowed her eyes. “And how would you know that?” 

He drummed his fingers against the table, then leaned towards her, his chin in his hand. His eyes were alight with amusement and something else that she couldn’t quite decipher. They were piercing, and Becca had to glance away, biting her lip. 

“Becca,” he said. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“No,” she said, digging at the pizza crust with her hand. Normally she judged anyone who left behind crust, but this pizza was abhorrent. 

“Please?” 

She looked over at the table where Jessica and Mike sat with the rest of their friends. They were both smiling at each other, lost in their thoughts. Becca felt ancient staring at them. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she glanced back at Edward. “At least, not very well. It’s more difficult than you can imagine. Mostly, I think, I’m very angry with myself. I think I’m here as a gift, but I keep ruining it.” 

There was a moment’s pause, long enough for Becca to reach for a napkin. She wiped her fingers. 

“Ruining it?” he questioned. His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes were anything but. Becca could tell that at this moment he was truly fascinated by her. She wanted to make it last. 

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I mean, not many people get a chance to start life over again. Yet I’m still clouded by negativity. Even when I have no reason to be.” Absentmindedly, she began to tear the brown paper napkin into strips. “At least, not enough of a reason. I miss my family, obviously. But that isn’t what makes me most upset.” 

She looked back across the cafeteria. Jessica was laughing, her head thrown all the way back. Angela was smiling at her friend. Becca longed for simplicity. 

When she glanced back at him, Edward’s eyes were troubled. He cleared his throat. “You know, Becca. I might understand how you’re feeling better than you think. Only you’ve had weeks to sit with it—I’ve had years. Tell me, though. What do you think it is that makes you the most upset?” 

There wasn’t a way for her to answer his question without either lying or putting herself out there. Becca already felt raw; now was not the time to add vulnerability into the mix. 

She leaned across the table toward him, clasping her hands together. 

Becca smiled wryly. “I feel very ordinary. Here, there, everywhere. I guess it always has bothered me, but I only realized it continued to bother me this morning.” 

His forehead creased. Becca remembered a story she read when she was younger, about a Frenchman who walked a tightrope between the Twin Towers when they were still standing. She remembered feeling anxious as a child about how the man would fall hundreds of feet to his death. Based on the look in Edward’s eyes, she felt like one wrong statement and the rope would snap in half. 

She was shaking; hopefully imperceptibly to him, though she knew that was a moot desire.

“You confound me, Becca,” he said, shaking his head. He smiled. “After every conversation with you, each and everyone, I am confident that I have figured out precisely how your mind works. I think I understand you, that I can predict your movements and patterns. Then you go and say one simple phrase and it throws out all of my theories.” 

“Like what?” she countered. 

“You just told me that you’re ordinary,” he laughed. “But you are the only person who has surprised me in the past half-century. Do you realize how difficult that is to do? You are the only mind that has been silent to me—ever.”

“But,” she made a face. “That’s exactly my point.” 

He frowned, confused. “What is?” 

She sighed. “This is all part of the canon. You can’t read my thoughts, so it makes you want to know why. That’s why you are talking to me. I’m a challenge, something unique, exotic to you, even. It has nothing to do with me—it’s the chase that interests you.” 

“It has everything to do with you,” he insisted.

Becca shook her head, then went back to tearing the napkin into pieces

“You misunderstand me.” He shook his head. He smiled. “You are not anything but ordinary because I cannot hear your thoughts—although that in itself _is_ anything but ordinary. You are anything but ordinary because you have, somehow, traveled through time. Because you have made Chief Swan happier than you can imagine and he isn’t even your actual father. Because you have made a number of these students here believe that they are worthy of themselves. You so often astutely make observations about me that are so entirely correct that I am left in awe. Becca,” he waited until she was looking at him. “You are extraordinary because you are _you._ ” 

“Uh…” Becca blinked. Her face was flushed, and she didn’t know whether it was because Edward Cullen had just said quite possibly the most romantic thing she’d ever been told or precisely because he didn’t even seem to realize that he had. She shook her head to clear it, being careful to avoid his eyes. “But my point is that you can’t know that I’m extraordinary. You don’t even know me, Edward.” 

“But I want to,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Isn’t that enough?” 

Becca swallowed. She suddenly felt like her entire body, every nerve, was on fire. She was careful to keep her eyes on the top of the table. The cafeteria was emptying, students heading in each direction to their classes. “I think that might be what scares me most.” 

“What?” 

“That you are going to get to know me and learn who I truly am.” 

She peeked up at him. His eyes were troubled, hidden behind heavy lashes. He looked so sad, so depressed, that she wanted to reach out and touch him. But she didn’t know whether he was sad at her expense or his. 

After some moments, his expression resolved itself and he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Come,” he said softly. She looked at him, puzzled. “We’re going to be late for class.” 

Becca felt, as they walked towards the cafeteria exit, that the rope was barely hanging on. This time felt so fickle, these feelings so temporary, and she knew she needed stability. 

“Becca,” Edward said quietly as they walked out into the cold, March air. He spoke so quietly that she had to turn her head all the way up to hear him. He wasn’t looking at her—his eyes were on the ground. “What are you doing this weekend since you aren’t attending the dance or going to visit your mother?” 

“Um.” As he was looking away, she did, too. “I haven’t gotten that far. I’ve really only been taking it day by day. Why?” 

“I was wondering if you would like to spend the day together. Perhaps just so that no teenage boys can attempt, last minute, to guilt you into going to the dance,” he teased.

She scowled up at him. “You’re a teenager too, Edward.” 

“So are you,” he pointed out. He held the door to the science hall open for her. She had to duck underneath his arm. 

“My frontal lobe is _much_ closer to being completely developed than yours.” 

Edward barked out a laugh. It was so loud that a student across the hall who was hurrying to his class looked up and frowned. Becca couldn’t help but smile in response. At least, if nothing else, she was funny. 

“You didn’t answer me,” he commented as they stood just outside of Mr. Banner’s room. “Would you like to spend the day together on Saturday?” 

“That depends.” 

“On?” 

“What we would do. I really need to go shopping. Bella Swan,” she held out her leg as evidence. “Has horrendous fashion sense.” 

Edward smiled, but his eyes were disappointed. “Well, I’ll be staying out of the public eye this weekend. Perhaps another time, then.” 

“Why?” she frowned. 

“It’ll be sunny this weekend. I don’t know what you know about—” 

“Oh,” she interrupted him. “I forgot about that. Sorry. Yeah, let’s hang out. Did you want to go, I don’t know, hiking or something?” 

He continued to frown. “You don’t need to change your plans for me, Becca.” 

“I’m not,” she rolled her eyes. Her tone turned serious. “But do you think whenever it’s not sunny we could actually go shopping? I really do need to buy new clothes and I have no way of going anywhere on my own.” 

“We could go after school today,” he offered. 

“Really?” 

“Of course.” 

Her eyes were wide in excitement and she smiled up at him. Edward was leaning towards her, smiling too. 

Then the bell rang. 

They walked into the classroom together, everyone watching. Mr. Banner didn’t enter the room until Becca and Edward were already seated. He came in pulling a TV on top of a metal frame. He shoved a VCR tape into it, then told Mike Newton to turn out the lights. As the credits started, Becca was hyperaware of Edward next to her. She turned towards him, surprised by how close he was sitting beside her—just centimeters away. 

“Were you serious? We can go shopping today? To Port Angeles?” She asked quietly. 

“Yes. We can even go to Seattle if you’d like,” he whispered back. He looked pleased by how happy this admission made her. 

Becca didn’t answer, turning her eyes back to the documentary on prokaryotic mitosis. But she leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms happily. Seattle was considered the city of coffee. She’d never been, but she’d always endeavored to one day go. 

Now she would get to have good coffee _and_ go shopping? 

The times were changing, and they were getting much better already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a dedicated Twilight reader or a stickler for details, you will notice that this chapter of Afterlife mirrors the "Interrogations" chapter of Twilight, which is chapter 10, not 9. This is primarily because my last chapter was very long, but also because I'm going to do a good bit of shifting with some plot points that reference Billy and Jacob. Jacob may make an appearance later on, but if Becca considers Edward to be young for her, I can say with certainty that she will consider 15/16-year-old Jacob to be a baby. And he kind of is LOL. 
> 
> I hope you're all well! Happy Aquarius season--my favorite season of the year :) 
> 
> Also, geez, some of you are being so kind about my writing, and I am so ridiculously appreciative. I told a friend last night that this story is my purpose for living at the moment lmao. It's been a very long time since I've shown anyone my writing. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, subscribing, kudosing, and commenting. I hope you're all safe! Feel free to leave your honest thoughts as usual. Hopefully, the pacing is okay :)


	10. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to clarify for those of you who bookmark this story by chapter, this is a new chapter as of (1/22)! I deleted the preface because I decided it didn't add enough to keep throwing off my chapter numbers (which was personally driving me bonkers). Enjoy! xx

The class went by slower than usual. At least, it seemed that way to Becca. She was now so excited about the day ending that she couldn’t pay attention to much else, much less a documentary from the 1990s. She was already making a mental list of things she wanted to buy. It didn’t worry her so much, now that she knew that money could go much further than she’d expected. Besides, if they were in Seattle, there would be thrift stores around, too. She was going to come to school tomorrow less of a Bella Swan and more of a Becca Fitzgerald. 

Still, when Mr. Banner turned the lights back on, Becca couldn’t have been more grateful. The rest of the class was busying themselves with packing up their things. Most of them gravitated towards the door, chattering about the dance that weekend. Edward glanced over at her. He didn’t have a backpack—he never had one—so only his biology book was in front of him. 

“You seem happy,” he commented. 

“That’s because I am,” she replied. She stretched her hands out in front of her and turned to fully face him. “We’re going shopping, Edward!” 

He laughed. “If this is all it takes to make you happy, you should have mentioned this to Alice.” 

“Oh, Alice!” Becca remembered. She nodded. “We should bring her with us. She’ll be really helpful.” 

Edward didn’t like this. “She’ll probably be busy.” 

“Doing what?” 

He ran his eyes over her face, trying to figure out if it was something she wanted. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll see if she wants to meet us there.” 

Becca glared at him. “Meet us there? I don’t exactly know how far Seattle is from here, but I think that’s a little much. Besides, I know right now climate change doesn’t seem like a big deal, but I promise that in a decade, you’ll be wishing you spent a little more time carpooling with each other. Of course, I guess it has more to do with the corporations than anything. But we _should_ carpool, anyway.” 

Edward rolled his eyes. He smiled at her again. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just so nice seeing you like this. Happy. Content. It exudes from your entire being and lights up everything around you. It’s beautiful.” 

Becca flushed, turning her eyes down to stare at the tabletop. There was a definite distinction in the words he’d just said: he hadn’t called this body, Bella’s body, beautiful; he’d called her _being_ beautiful. Annoyingly, in the back of her mind, Becca had a thought that this compliment was backhanded. She’d been walking around depressed, anxious, moody, and as if she was losing her mind for weeks. Did Edward only like being around her when she was happy?

She closed her eyes and tried to push this thought as far away as she could. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “Seattle is three hours away, but we can make it in less than two. Regardless, you should inform your father. We won’t be back until late.” 

Becca made a face. Though she had been living with Charlie for weeks at this point, she wasn’t used to telling anyone else what she was doing. If it took them two hours to get to Seattle, they would arrive by a little after four. If they stayed until six, which would only give her two hours to shop—definitely not enough time—she still wouldn’t be back before Charlie got home. Edward was right; she’d need to tell him. 

“Let’s invite Alice for sure then,” she pressed, recognizing he still hadn’t fully agreed. “It’ll be much easier to persuade Charlie to let me go if he knows she’s coming too.” 

Edward sighed in reluctance. “Fine. She can come, but she’ll drive herself.” 

“Edward,” Becca warned. 

“Take it or leave it, Becca. You know, this trip to Seattle isn’t just for your benefit. I need some time away from my siblings.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. 

The bell rang and most of the class left immediately, leaving Mr. Banner at his desk, muttering about something that she couldn’t hear but didn’t care enough about to ask Edward.

Edward gestured to the door, standing up. “Shall we?” 

“We shall,” she answered, then cringed at how awkward she sounded. 

But Edward didn’t acknowledge it. 

Becca was practically bouncing as they walked through the hall. Not because she was walking beside Edward, and not because he might have just called her beautiful, but because there was only an hour left in the school day, which meant that there was only an hour left before they could leave for Seattle. She only slightly contemplated how odd it was that she was completely comfortable walking in silence with Edward, though they had only been alone together about a handful of times. 

Everyone continued to stare at them as they reached the outdoor courtyard. She could hear whispers, but she didn’t pay them any attention. It bothered her much more that Edward could hear every word—or thought—that was said. 

The clouds were dark gray above them. Becca frowned up at the sky; nothing about it gave the impression that her birthday was around the corner. 

Becca contemplated her choices; she had about two-hundred dollars left. She could buy at least three pairs of shoes with that. She was dying to buy a pair of heels, not that she had anywhere to wear them here in Forks. They would make her feel powerful, though. And look it, too. She loved the way they sounded, clicking against the floor. The height they gave her. The right pair—her favorite pair was from M. Gemi—could make you forget you were even wearing heels. 

“Bella?” Mrs. Cope called. She was hobbling down the sidewalk but came to a halt once she saw her. Any student who wasn’t already staring at Edward and Becca now turned to look. 

Becca’s face flushed. She hurried towards the woman. “Yes?” 

Mrs. Cope looked up at Edward and looked stunned. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and only opened her eyes when she was only looking at Becca. “You need to turn in your application form by tomorrow if you’re still planning on enrolling for the final quarter. Have you decided on which classes you’d like to take?” 

Becca nodded. “I’m stuck between music appreciation, poetry, and sustainable agriculture. But they all sound interesting, so I might enroll in all of them.” 

Mrs. Cope’s forehead creased. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Bella. Most students can only handle one extra class—much less three. Do you feel like FHS is that much of a step down from your high school in Phoenix?” 

“Oh, yes,” Becca answered. She struggled to maintain a straight face now that she knew Edward was watching her, and _especially now_ that she knew that he knew her truth. “My old school was very rigorous. I want to be challenged here, especially for my college applications.” 

“Right…” Mrs. Cope pursed her lips. She didn’t seem to know what to say to this. “Well, Miss Swan, if you think you can handle it, then you’ll only need to have your father sign off on it. Please drop it off in the morning so that we can make the additions for your transcript.” 

Becca tried to smile, but the woman avoided her eyes and rushed in the other direction. Both she and Edward watched her go. As was quickly becoming habit when she was with him, the courtyard had emptied of all other students. 

“I wonder what I said that offended her,” Becca muttered, looking up at Edward. 

“It doesn’t seem to be what you said that bothered her, so much as what you’re wearing.” He was still staring after Mrs. Cope. As they looked on, the woman opened the door and disappeared into the English building. 

Becca’s eyebrows furrowed and she glanced down at herself. She was dressed as she normally was, all except for…Edward’s jacket. Becca looked up at Edward, horrified. “She’s jealous that I’m wearing your jacket?” 

“Yes,” Edward stilled, then smiled down at her. “Did you still want to talk about my frontal lobe development?” 

Becca ignored him. “She’s like fifty!” 

He winced again. “Forty-seven, but I suppose your point remains the same.” 

“Edward,” she said flatly. “You don’t…you don’t find it creepy that a woman who is almost three times your age is jealous that I’m wearing your jacket? That doesn’t bother you?” 

He frowned. “Of course I do. But you have to understand, Becca. I hear what everyone is thinking all of the time. I do my best to block them out, but even so, I try to reward them with privacy. People should be allowed to think freely inside the comfort of their own mind.” 

“Now when they are having inappropriate thoughts about a teenager!” 

“I am hardly a teenager, Becca.” 

“You _are_ a teenager because your brain stopped developing while you were one. If you have the brain of a seventeen-year-old, then you’re a seventeen-year-old.” 

“You know, much of history disagrees with you.” 

“Much of history disagrees with everything!” 

He laughed, delighted. He spun around to face her. “Come now. You told me you were a social worker. Do you act this way when your clients have an obsessive-compulsive disorder?” 

Becca began walking towards the gym. Coach Clapp already disliked her; she didn’t want that dislike to morph into hatred. “If you’re referring to OCD type four, Mrs. Cope doesn’t meet the qualifications for that.” 

He kept up with her easily. He was smug. “But how can you be sure?” 

Becca rolled her eyes. “Because I can?”

“That’s quite presumptuous, Becca. If I were your client, I’d report you to the board.” 

“And _you_ would be my client because I work with minors. I’m a family social worker.” 

She heard the shrill sound signaling the beginning of the period. She was late again. Becca was getting tired of these bells. She missed the days of being free to be late on her own accord, without having an arbitrary schedule to tell her where to go. 

“I’ll see you later?” she said, looking up at him. 

“I’ll wait for you here,” he promised. 

They smiled at each other, both satisfied, then Becca jogged towards the gym. As she headed towards Coach Clapp, she wondered why it was that Edward always walked her to her class when she was late. Didn’t that mean that he, too, was late? Did his seventh-period teacher just not care because he was rich and beautiful?

* * *

Becca took her time getting dressed after gym. Coach Clapp made her run an extra two laps but had seemed to, for today at least, accepted that she was habitually late. Becca hoped this would last. 

She pulled her hair up into a messy bun. Becca was still wondering, though she was very grateful, how Bella had such nice skin. It was nearly translucent looking and in the past month and a half hadn’t gotten so much as a pimple. She remembered her skin in high school had flared up before each test or fight she ever had with her boyfriend. 

Satisfied, she took Edward’s jacket out of her locker and put it on, heading back into the gym. She frowned as she remembered what Edward had said about Mrs. Cope.

As Becca walked outside, she expected to see Edward waiting for her outside of the gym, but he wasn’t. She made a face but decided to track down Jessica since she didn’t have any distractions and needed to tell her about the change in afternoon plans, anyway. Eric waved at her from his car a few meters away. Becca held up her hand in greeting too, then hurried down the path to the English building. 

It was several degrees colder than it had been earlier—the clouds above were gray and twisting. Becca frowned up at them. It was _March_ , for crying out loud. This temperature was just disrespectful. 

Mr. Masen’s door was closed. The hallway was empty too, for the most part. She passed the supply closet door where Edward had cornered her, then ducked into the bathroom. 

“Jessica?” she called. 

“In here, Bella,” the girl called back from behind a closed stall. “Sorry—I had to talk to Mr. Masen about my essay. He gave me a D on my Macbeth essay! A D. Can you believe it? My dad is going to ground me.” 

Becca observed herself in the mirror as the toilet flushed. Jessica joined her seconds later, lathering soap into her hands. 

“Did you ever say yes about getting your belly button pierced?” Becca wondered. 

Jessica scoffed. “Are you kidding me? He still wants to ground me for even asking about it. I don’t understand what his problem is. I mean, we’re adults. My birthday is in June. I’ll be eighteen.” 

Becca nodded solemnly. This was a thought that she could get behind—she too couldn’t wait for Bella to turn eighteen. 

Jessica turned off the water and reached for the paper towels. “Do you want to get milkshakes before I take you home? I need to celebrate my freedom before my dad grounds me.” 

Sympathy clouded Becca’s features. “Mr. Masen won’t change the grade?” 

“No,” Jessica rolled her eyes. “He says it’s what I deserved. Funny that I don’t know a single person who got above a C. I think it speaks to his teaching. But he gave me money last week and milkshakes are half-priced on Tuesdays.” 

Becca had gotten an A on that essay—she’d written about the relationship dynamics between Lady Macbeth and Macbeth—but she didn’t mention this. 

“Actually, Jess,” Becca said, leaning against the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon. Edward’s driving me to Seattle.” 

Jessica’s eyes bugged out. “You’re going to Seattle? On a Tuesday?” 

“Yeah. You only live once, you know?” Becca expected Jessica to laugh or at least smile in acknowledgment, but Jessica was pouting in the mirror. It was either because they couldn’t hang out or because she was jealous, both of which Becca felt bad about. “I’m sorry to bail on you, Jess.” 

Jessica shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll see if Lauren wants to go. It’s no big deal. Also…don’t take this the wrong way, Bella,” Jessica wrinkled her nose. “And I’m only telling you this because I love you. But you’re about to be with Edward Cullen. You need to brush your hair.” 

Becca examined her profile in the mirror. It looked fine to her. “What?” 

“Here,” Jessica said, digging through her purse. She produced a purple hairbrush. “It’s all lumpy.” 

Becca frowned. “That’s the point.” 

“Look, Bella. I know you said that like, you don’t want to be with Edward, or whatever, and I still don’t get it. But I can’t let you go out looking out all skanky. Here,” she said, shaking her head. “Let me do it.” 

Becca was about to argue, but she saw Jessica’s face and realized that there was something particularly heartwarming about this behavior. Even if she did have the wrong idea. Becca smiled. “Thanks, Jess.” 

“No problem,” Jessica muttered, standing up on her tiptoes. “If we can’t trust each other to tell us when our hair looks stupid, what can we trust each other with?” 

It was a simple enough statement. A statement that signified true friendship. It was probably sewn on a cushion somewhere and found in a dorm room. But the simplicity of trust, of raw emotion, in Jessica’s voice startled Becca. She knew that Edward was right—that both Angela and Jessica had changed over the past few weeks—but she had never considered it to be to this extent. Jessica was doing something kind for her because she _wanted_ to, and not because she wanted to pretend. 

This action made her feel purposeful. Maybe there was a reason for her existence. 

“There,” Jessica said. She’d put Becca’s hair into a ponytail. It was a little too low for Becca’s liking, but she smiled at herself in the mirror. “Now, let’s go find your boyfriend.” 

Becca rolled her eyes but followed her out anyway.

* * *

Edward was waiting for them, naturally. He was leaning against the brick wall outside of the English building. His smile when he saw them was so breathtaking that Jessica took a step back, and Becca froze. 

There was also a troubling look in his eyes. 

“Good afternoon, Jessica,” he greeted. Becca heard her sharp intake of breath. His eyes shifted to Becca’s. “Are you ready, Bella?” 

Becca had become so accustomed to hearing him say her real name that she blinked in surprise. Edward was so good at lying; much better than she was. 

Before Becca could answer Edward, Jessica threw her arms around her. She put her mouth close to Becca’s ear and whispered, “Get him to take you on the Great Wheel. It’s really romantic. That’s where I want to be proposed to.” 

Becca wanted to laugh; it was such a generic proposal idea. But then she realized Edward heard this, and her face flushed. 

Jessica pulled back and looked Becca pointedly in the eyes. “I’ll see you later, Bella. Have fun.” 

Becca joined Edward, lifting a hand to wave at Jess. Jessica widened her eyes again, making hand motions that she thought Edward couldn’t see. Becca felt like she was back on that tightrope again, balancing carefully to keep from falling. Her heart was racing, and her palms were sweaty. 

Edward didn’t look down at her as he led the way to his car. The parking lot was mostly vacant. The red convertible from earlier, which she guessed belonged to one of the other Cullens, was gone. 

He opened the car door for her. It felt like such an archaic gesture, but her stomach fluttered with anticipation each time he did it. 

She watched him cross in front of the car. He wore a watch on his left wrist, the silver band peeking out of his sweater sleeve. Everything about Edward fit together—his features, his height, his style. Becca had never felt like that in her entire life; she’d always felt one screw loose of presentable. She looked away from him as he got into the car, not wanting to be caught staring. 

Edward turned the heat on high and the radio on low. Some pop music song she’d never heard before began playing in the background. Edward backed out of the parking space fluidly, turning onto the road; Becca rubbed her hands together to warm them. 

“Is it always so cold here in March?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

He pulled to a stop at a stoplight but didn’t wait for it to turn green before driving forward. She was about to say comment on it but realized that he didn’t need to. He would be able to hear anything that was coming. 

“Where were you after school?” she pressed. 

He frowned at this. “I was with my siblings.” 

“With Alice?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is she meeting us in Seattle?”

“Yes. You’ll get to meet my brother.” 

Becca’s eyes lit up. “Emmett?”

“No.” Edward’s lips turned further downward. “Jasper.” 

He didn’t add anything further, and Becca frowned out of the window. Edward’s mention of Jasper jarred something in her memory—wasn’t he the reason that the second book existed? She remembered that he was particularly bad at being around humans. For some reason, the fact didn’t bother her as much as it probably should have. She knew that she could get hurt in this reality—the accident with the van had proven that. But she was in this reality because she was already dead. There wasn’t much else he could do to her. Except what? Kill her again? 

Becca pulled her leg into the seat and hugged her knee against her chest. It was starting to get warm, so she shrugged out of Edwards's jacket. He noticed, looking out of the corner of his eye, and turned the heat on low. 

Five songs she’d never heard before played in a row on the radio. She knew Kelly Clarkson’s voice but had never heard that particular song. She was also certain she recognized Ciara’s voice, but couldn’t be sure. By the time the sixth song came on that she didn’t know, they were already in Port Angeles. Edward was driving so fast that the scenery blurred outside of the window. 

More than anything, she wondered why Edward’s mood had changed. Just before gym, he’d been so jovial. And he had never spoken to her so shortly—he was always the one to keep the conversation going, not to stifle it. 

Becca turned and examined him. She’d driven with him at night, but only twice in the daytime, so seeing him now felt like a new experience. They were only a foot apart, and the air between them felt charged. Edward was staring straight ahead, and he drove by gripping the bottom of the wheel with his right hand, the other resting on his lap. His grip was so tight that the vein in his arm bulged. 

Edward Cullen was attractive all of the time, but Edward Cullen driving was truly a sight to behold.

The music on the radio shifted. She recognized the opening chord progression and her mouth dropped open. 

“Omg.” 

“What?” Edward said frowning. 

“Is this Mr. Brightside?!” She sat straight up, her eyes widening. She laughed. “Oh my god, it _is_! Incredible.” 

Edward, whose frown had deepened, reached over and turned the volume knob up. Becca smiled in response and leaned her head back against the seat. 

If she closed her eyes, she was back home. Pregaming with her friends in college, singing along to the song, half-drunk and deliriously happy somewhere at midnight. She could almost feel how cold the night air would be on her skin as they desperately tried to find the right address. 

As the song ended, she kept her eyes closed but grinned. “I didn’t know this song came out in 2005.” 

“You said you came from the year 2020,” Edward stated. “Tell me—has much changed? I suspect technology will have dominated many aspects of life.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Becca snorted. But she was ecstatic that he’d given her more than a one-word response. She opened just one eye and looked over at him. “You wouldn’t believe how different it was even if I told you.” 

Edward didn’t answer her, but his frown deepened. 

She opened her eyes and glanced back out of the window. Evergreen trees went in every direction, sprawling, it seemed, forever. 

“2020 was the worst year of my life. Objectively. Subjectively. Any way you look at it. The worst year of many people’s life.”

“What is it that happens, exactly?” 

“A lot of things. It’s why I’m here, I think. First, the pandemic. Then, the President is a lunatic. The government falls apart and the nation is divided.”

“There’s a civil war?” Edward asked, sounding uncertain. 

“Not…exactly. Not really. No. It’s not a civil war.” She shook her head, biting the inside of her lips. “It’s more like political unrest, I guess. But the pandemic complicates things.” 

“The pandemic?” he questioned. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“Yeah,” she frowned. “There’s this virus that originated in China. It quickly spread around the world. It hit the US the worst of all. At least, we have the most recorded cases. It’s the type of pandemic that only happens once in a century.” 

“This virus,” he said flatly. “How deadly is it? How many people died after contracting it?” 

Becca frowned, trying to remember the numbers. “I think it was somewhere around 300,000. Americans, that is. But this was back in December. By the following year, 2021, it was on track to have more deaths than the Spanish Flu. Which was somewhere around—” 

“675,000 Americans,” he interrupted. “500 million worldwide. A third of the world’s population.” He switched lanes, going around a Camry. He added, “At the time. The population has grown exponentially since then.” 

There was something in his voice that made her look over at him. 

“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes met hers. “Because I also died from a virus.” 

Becca opened her mouth to speak but then didn’t. She felt mortified—how had she not remembered this? It was tactless. A social gaffe, if there ever was one. She was also stuck on his use of the word ‘also.’ Did he think that she had died because of the pandemic? She tried to run back over her words in her mind. What exactly had she said that would indicate that she’d died from the coronavirus? 

“Here,” he said, changing the subject before she could convince herself to correct him, as he sped around a black SUV. Edward, it seemed, was a very impatient driver. He dumped a silver, bulky flip phone into her lap. “Call your father and tell him where you’re going.” 

Becca took the phone from him but made no move to do anything. “I don’t know his number.” 

Edward frowned at her, his forehead creasing. “You don’t know your father’s number?” 

“Well, he isn’t _my_ father,” she muttered, then stopped when she saw the look on Edward’s face. “We don’t memorize phone numbers. Where I come from.”

Edward sighed. He took the phone back from her, flipped it open, then hit a button. Speed dial, Becca remembered. Blast from the past, alright. 

“Alice,” he said almost immediately, glaring at Becca out of the corner of his eyes. “Can you get me Charlie’s number, please?” 

A few minutes later, he hung up with Alice. His lips were still tight as he dialed the number. He handed her the phone back, gesturing for her to call him. 

Becca took it, sighing, and quickly tried to formulate a plan for what she could tell Charlie while it rang.

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell Charlie that you were with me?” Edward demanded as soon as she flipped the small phone closed.

They were in Sequim now. She had expected that the highway would start to resemble the interstates that she was used to, but it certainly did not. It was still only four lanes. 

“It just seemed like it was easier than explaining what I'm actually doing,” Becca shrugged. She set the cellphone into the cup holder. She would have to acquire one of those eventually. “And we are meeting Alice. So, it’s not a lie.” 

Edward didn’t answer her, but she could tell that he was frustrated. She sighed. “What exactly is your problem, Edward? You’ve been in a mood since we’ve left school.” 

“I have not,” he said. 

“You have,” she insisted. “You look upset. And you haven’t exactly been a conversationalist since, either.” 

“I have a lot on my mind,” he admitted. Becca glanced at the speedometer. He was pushing 100mph. Judging by the mile markers she’d seen in Port Angeles, they’d be closing in on Seattle within the hour. “But I’ve been meaning to ask. You’re taking classes at Peninsula?” 

“Starting next week,” she frowned. “What’s on your mind?”

“What a coincidence,” he grinned, ignoring her question. “I am also taking classes at Peninsula starting next week.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. Are you also taking music appreciation, sustainable agriculture, and intro to poetry?” 

“Not sustainable agriculture.” His smile widened. “Tell me—what is it about it that interests you?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, picking at her cuticles. “I guess I figured I might as well become a farmer at some point. I’m not good with plants,” she admitted. “They always die.” 

Edward laughed. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in the cupholder. Edward frowned, but reached down and picked it up. He looked to see who was calling before answering. 

“What is it, Alice?” he sighed. 

Becca watched the speedometer increase to 115 mph. It was strange; she didn’t feel as though they were going that fast.

“Around Eaglemount,” he answered. He sighed. “Fine.” 

He snapped the phone closed and left it on his lap. Glancing over at her, he smiled apologetically. "I'm very sorry, Becca.” 

She looked over at him in surprise. “What?” 

“It seems that it won’t be just Jasper that you’ll be meeting this evening.” His eyes ran over her face as she raised her eyebrows. He continued, “My other siblings will be joining us as well.” 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s alright. Of course.” 

Edward frowned. “It’s just that Rosalie, my sister, she isn’t fond of you, exactly.” 

Becca sighed. “It’s alright, Edward. I understand. This is a lot for anyone to take in.” 

She tried to stay calm, but she didn’t feel that way in the slightest. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she had to mentally remind herself to slow her breathing. It certainly didn’t help that Edward could hear them both—her breathing and her heart. 

“I’m not worried,” she said, trying to assure herself as much as Edward. “You’ll protect me.” 

“Right,” Edward watched her carefully. “I’ll protect you.” 

Becca tried to think of everything she knew about Rosalie Hale. All she could remember, besides the girl’s extraordinary beauty, was that she had a very tragic backstory and an unwavering sense of hatred for Bella Swan. 

She looked out of the window, frowning. 

Hopefully, the fact that she _wasn’t_ Bella Swan would be enough to deter that hatred. 

Hopefully, the fact that she _didn’t_ want to live forever would be enough. 

Hopefully, Rosalie would understand that Becca wasn’t exactly ecstatic about living in this world, either. 

But as they raced towards Seattle, Becca wasn’t all too sure about that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am...extremely shook by the number of readers this story has. Seriously. Thank you for taking the time to read and for your kind words! I'm going to do my absolute best to update by Sunday/Monday. Reviews certainly help me write much faster and I promise I enjoy reading every single one of them as much as I enjoy writing this story :) 
> 
> I'm dreadfully sorry for any grammar mistakes this contains. I've read over it a few times, but I have been on zoom allll day and my eyes are very tired. 
> 
> Also, to any of you who might be reading this to *escape* the reality that we currently find ourselves in, I'm sorry to bring up the pandemic. It's essential, in this chapter and when it will later be acknowledged again, to the unwinding and story of Becca's trauma. Otherwise, I wouldn't include it. 
> 
> Now, will Rosalie hate Becca? Will Jasper? Only time will tell ❤️


	11. Balancing

They had taken a ferry boat across the Sound and were navigating the streets of downtown Seattle. It was about an hour before dusk, and the ride had been mostly silent since Edward had mentioned meeting his family. His mood had turned sour once again, though Becca still couldn’t determine the exact cause—and he certainly seemed reluctant to tell her. About halfway through the ride, he changed the music station to a classical one, which Becca would have complained about if the music didn’t seem to be calming Edward. She, on the other hand, only recognized certain songs from movie scores, and it did nothing but heighten her anxiety each time she remembered a movie that hadn’t yet been made.

But she was much too caught up in her thoughts to ask him to change the station. Her mood began to plummet. She felt herself clouding with nervousness, like something inside her mind was about to pop. 

Becca was still reasonably far away from being comfortable with herself in this new body—in this new universe. She was making progress, but having Edward to lean on and confide in, even only somewhat, had sped things along. He was the only person in Forks who knew who she was. If he chose to not be friends with her, if he chose to stop speaking to her, then well, she might not have it in her to continue. She might revert to her old self. 

And that wouldn’t exactly be a good thing. 

She wished that he would say something—anything. She’d tried twice to start a conversation but to no avail each time. This gave her way too much time to ponder the upcoming meeting with the Cullens. 

What she had originally thought would be a stress-free trip with Edward, getting to know him better, had morphed into something entirely different. She wondered if he’d finally deciding learning about her wasn’t worth it, just as she’d suspected he would. 

“Do you think that your family exists here?” Edward asked her quietly. He swerved around a red minivan and the speedometer slowed to 80mph. He turned down a side street, and they drove freely now, without any cars in front of them. “If you were to go home, would you see them?”

“No,” she frowned. “I don’t. I’m fairly certain that you and your family don’t exist in the same reality as mine.” 

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Becca, and I do apologize if you take it this way, but my kind is all over. You likely wouldn’t even recognize them.” 

“Trust me, Edward. I _really_ don’t think your kind exists in my reality.” 

He frowned, looking vaguely offended. “And why is that?” 

She pursed her lips. “Let’s just say that it would be difficult for you to exist with my society’s history of pop culture.” 

He looked over and searched her face, the first time they had made eye contact in over an hour. It took a moment, but her words seemed to sink in.

“Ah,” Edward said quietly. He parallel parked on the side of the street; Becca felt the same jealousy return at his ease of the skill. Edward barely even had to slow the car before maneuvering between the two SUVs. “This must be how you know about me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Still,” he pressed, turning off the car. “I suppose even if someone did let our secret slip and it spread, which is unlikely, you couldn’t be sure that my kind doesn’t exist there. If it got around quick enough, I doubt anyone would be able to control it. It’s quite possible. We’re rather good at staying inconspicuous.”

She frowned, thinking of the world’s reaction to Twilight. 

“I strongly suspect that vampires are not real where I’m from. And if they are, then the later 2000s would make life hell for all of you.” 

“Interesting,” he muttered. “And you still won’t explain how you know all of this information?” 

“No,” she answered. “Not now, at least.” 

Edward’s jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything. He was glaring out of the window now, staring straight at the back of the Honda Cr-V with an Oregon license plate in front of them. It reminded Becca of her first car—she’d had a purple one. She looked over at him, to determine what was bothering him. 

“Edward Cullen,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Are you _bothered_ because you don’t exist in my reality?” 

His lips turned further downward and he glanced at her sideways. “No.” 

Becca flushed and frowned. She looked away from him, out of the window, feeling embarrassed for even attempting a joke. Whatever was bothering him must be deep. They were parked in front of a Four Seasons hotel. Behind them were stairs that led down to the water. People were everywhere. Becca’s eyes began to sting, and she didn’t want Edward to see. Why was he being so rude to her? 

And why did she care so much? 

“You’ll want to put the jacket on,” he warned, pushing open his door. “It’s colder than when we left the school.” 

He got out and closed the door, waiting on the sidewalk for her. Becca rushed to put the jacket on, feeling awkward as she shrugged it on. 

It bothered her that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. She was usually exceptionally good at reading people—it came with the job territory. Becca wanted to believe that he was no different than the other brooding teenagers she dealt with regularly, but as much as she had joked about his frontal lobe, there _was_ something different about him than anyone else she’d ever spoken to. Even if he didn’t age, the passing years had to count for some sort of development. 

Was this falling into the exact pattern of what she had suspected it would this quickly? Had she been correct in thinking that once he got to know her, he wouldn’t want to be around her any longer? 

And to think that Edward barely even knew her yet. 

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand; hopefully, if someone saw her, they would pass it off as a reaction to the cutting wind. It felt more like early January than March as she hurried towards Edward. Perhaps it was due to the concrete around them, or perhaps the water right next to them, but either way, she was shivering. 

As soon as she reached him, Edward took off much faster than he needed to down the street, weaving his way in between people, expecting her to follow. Becca had to make extra effort to keep up with him, which was saying something, as she was naturally a fast walker. 

Finally, as they turned a corner, she crossed her arms and stopped walking. The soles of her feet felt like they were on fire. 

Edward didn’t turn around, but he noticed, because he stopped walking, too. He glanced over his shoulder and called without looking at her, “It isn’t too far now.” 

Becca huffed. All she wanted to do was go shopping and buy new clothes. Clothes that would make her feel like she was herself again—that she had a purpose. That her entire mental stability here wasn’t the equivalent of a penny balancing on top of a cliff in the middle of the Himalayas. 

Yet now all she wanted was to get back in the car and drive back to Forks. She was tired of Edward, tired of walking, tired of the anxiety she felt about meeting his damn family. 

But at least, as they started walking again, Edward let her determine the pace. 

“Where are we meeting them?” she grumbled. 

“Car dealership,” he answered, staring straight ahead.

“A car dealership?” she questioned flatly. They were in the middle of the crosswalk, and Becca nearly stopped walking. 

“Yes,” he said, frowning down at her. “I suppose I should have clarified before. We are meeting all of them at the dealership, and then we’ll go shopping with Alice and Jasper.” 

Becca shook her head. If she squinted, she could now see the four rings on the white building ahead. An _Audi_ dealership, no less. “And why, exactly, are we meeting your family at a dealership?” 

“I lost a bet,” he said shortly. His jaw was clenched again. 

“You’re buying someone a car because _you lost a bet?_ ” she exclaimed. Becca’s eyebrows furrowed and she momentarily forgot that she didn’t understand any of his behavior. 

Edward’s eyes flickered to a couple passing by who had heard her, and he frowned. “It’s not that big of a deal, Becca.” 

She snorted. Not a big deal. She was going to have to revitalize those plans about swindling the Cullens out of money. Buying a car because you lost a bet…now _that_ was the kind of life she wanted to lead. 

The sky was turning a darker gray as the sun, which was hidden by clouds, dipped below the horizon. But the front of the Audi building was entirely made of glass, so the street in front of the building was lit up. Edward held open the door for her and she ducked inside. 

The interior walls were painted red, and if she had to guess, there were probably a dozen assorted cars on display. Becca had never bought a new car before, much less been to a new dealership, so she had no way of knowing if they all looked like this. Her mouth dropped as she took in the glossiness of the cars scattered around the room. 

The Cullens were waiting for them in the back corner of the room, and Becca’s heart immediately began to beat faster in response. They were near a small bright red car—Becca didn’t know the name of it; she only knew the Audi symbol because it was Lizzie’s dream car. Alice was seated on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the display car, her eyes closed. Jasper stood, hovering beside her, but Becca’s eyes slid right past him. Emmett, who was a lot larger up close than she’d thought he would be, just stared down at her. There was nothing ill in his gaze, thank goodness. 

Rosalie however, who was leaning against the car, scowled at her. She was beautiful, of course, even when she was glaring. Perhaps she was even the most beautiful when she was. More so than any model Becca had ever seen, especially leaning against the red display. Her hair was even more commercial looking than even Edward’s. Becca felt, even with Bella’s hair, dull in comparison. It probably would’ve taken her several hours to make her hair look like Rosalie’s, even with her own hair instead of Bella’s. 

Becca was vaguely aware, with her heart beating as fast as it was, that there was a song playing overhead—she didn’t recognize it, but it sounded like Mariah Carey. 

In just seconds, Rosalie’s look became even more heated, and Becca shivered from how intense it was. Her eyes were cold and darker than any of the other Cullens’. It was, perhaps, the single most terrifying look she had ever seen. It reminded her of a picture she’d once seen of an angry siren; she was sure to have nightmares of it. 

Edward hissed under his breath and Rosalie turned her head, glaring down at the white linoleum. 

Becca didn’t realize she was shaking until she felt Edward’s hand on her shoulder. She froze. It was the first time he had ever touched her. His grip was firm, comforting somehow, heavy like a stone. 

“Alice,” Edward said through his teeth. “Why don’t you and Bella get a head start on shopping? I’ll meet you at the mall.” 

Alice met his eyes from her spot on the floor. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and got up and crossed the floor to greet Becca, hugging her softly. “Is that alright with you, Bella?” 

Behind her, Rosalie rolled her eyes. 

Becca nodded. She was so stunned that she barely noticed Edward’s—or Alice’s—use of the name Bella. Though she’d been expecting Rosalie to not exactly like her, she was still startled by the force of the dislike, especially when she’d done nothing. It wasn’t like Becca _wanted_ any of this. It wasn’t like she’d asked for any of it. 

Well, not really, at least. 

“See you later, Jazz,” Alice called over her shoulder. Becca blinked—forgetting the blond man standing behind Alice. She’d barely noticed him. Alice took Becca’s hand, leading her towards the door. It was hard and felt about as cold as the temperature outside did

Before Becca could bring herself to look up at Edward, a salesman made his way towards them. He was dressed in a white polo and had curly, blond hair. He was athletic and lean, and in any other company, Becca would have considered him attractive. 

“Come,” Alice said, tugging at her hand. “We have a lot to do and not a lot of time to get it done.” 

Becca let her pull her out of the store, listening to the voices fill the showroom. There was the salesman’s, which sounded dull in comparison to Edward’s. Rosalie’s voice, which she hadn’t heard until now, was just as beautiful as Edward’s, yet had a touch of an accent Becca was certain she knew—upstate New York, perhaps? 

A bell she hadn’t noticed when they’d entered announced their exit. As soon as the door shut behind them, Alice dropped her hand. Becca crossed her arms, trying to warm herself, as she followed Alice down the sidewalk and towards a black car, a Mercedes by the look of it, waiting on the opposite corner. 

She just had to remind herself to breathe. Once she was in the car, away from the rest of the Cullens, she calmed down. It wasn’t Rosalie’s response to her that bothered her—she was sure Rosalie had her reasons; Becca was still, however, upset by Edward’s behavior. 

It was a difficult thing to process—the person she trusted with her life enough to know most of her truth was acting temperamental. 

“I just want you to know,” Alice said pulling off the curb as Becca fastened her seatbelt. Alice reached and turned the heat on full blast, and Becca was momentarily shocked by the amount of cold air the blasted her face. “That I’m very happy to know you, Bella.” 

Becca frowned. Alice pulled away from the curb and stopped at the intersection outside of the store. “Why do you still call me that? Bella, I mean.” 

It was dark inside of the car, but she could see that Alice’s expression was indifferent, innocent even. “You haven’t asked me to call you anything different.” 

Her frown deepened. “Edward hasn’t told you?” 

“No.” Alice made a left turn. “I know some of it of course, but not because Edward told me. He hasn’t told any of us. He hasn’t even told Carlisle, and that’s unusual.” 

“Why wouldn’t he tell you?” she demanded. Becca couldn’t decide if the warmth spreading through her chest was due to infuriation on Alice’s part or relief on her part. 

“He wants to preserve your privacy,” Alice frowned, seeming confused by Becca’s response. She turned to look at her, even though they were now speeding down a four-lane highway weaving through traffic. “And he’ll never tell you this, but it hasn’t been easy on him. Our family doesn’t like information being withheld.” 

The warmth she felt was definitely due to relief. 

“Then what do you mean by you know some of it already, if Edward hasn’t told you?” 

Alice smiled over at her now. “You don’t know?” 

Becca shook her head. 

Alice was a cross between disappointed and excited. “I thought because you know that Edward could hear thoughts, that you would know. But I can see things. It’s kind of like—” 

“The future,” Becca exclaimed, sitting up straight in the seat. It all came together. “You can see the future!” 

Alice frowned again. “Well, sort of, but that’s not the best way to describe it.” 

“Then you know. About what’s to come? Coronavirus? The 2016 Presidential election? You know how the whole world will fall apart?” 

“Well, no. I don’t know about any of those things,” Alice admitted. “My visions don’t work like that. Certain things are set in stone—like the weather for instance. But everything you just mentioned would be the culmination of several different decisions being made by several different people. I see the outcomes of things. At any given moment, there are billions of different ones. It would be impossible to watch all of them.” 

“But do you know why I’m here?” 

“I know that _you_ know why you’re here,” she amended. “Or that you decided what you thought the reason is. And no, I haven’t told Edward, but you probably should. He has a bit of a temper when he’s the last to find out things.”

Becca frowned, considering this. “So, what _do_ you know about me then?” 

“I’ve only seen flickers of your life. Your outcomes are a little difficult for me to see. They cause me a headache, and I’m immortal, so I don’t get those.” She made a face. “Sometimes it’s quite funny. The first time I met you—in the restroom, remember? I saw you trying to steal Edward’s credit card. I’ve seen that one a few times. Even today, right before you both arrived at the dealership, I saw it again. Edward knows, too. We think it’s hilarious.” 

Alice looked over at Becca as if she wanted to ask why that was. Becca flushed in response—she’d have to be careful about even joking inside her head about swindling their money in the future. 

“How does it work, then?” Becca asked again, shaking her head to clear it. “You said you had to decide to watch my decisions. How did you see one on my first day in Forks?” 

“It involved my brother. I’m always watching for any decisions that concern the well-being of our family. And you were new, so,” she shrugged. “We knew nothing about you. You were a liability. I could see from your choices that you knew something about Edward, and I could also see that you were reluctant to trust him. But I couldn’t see much more than that and eventually, Edward forbade me from attempting.” 

“He _forbade_ you?” Becca asked incredulously. Alice changed lanes to get off at an exit. 

“Not in so many words. But yes. It’s rather fascinating. Edward doesn’t want any help learning anything about you except for what you decide to tell him. He’s very vocal about respecting your privacy. I’ve never seen him act quite like this before. You’ll have to be very patient with him, I’m afraid. This is all new for him.” 

Becca frowned at this; she wasn’t entirely sure what Alice was implying. Becca had never before lived in a different reality either, nor was she accustomed to being around mythical creatures. And although it wasn’t like she had been starved for male attention, her only serious relationship had been back in high school, which she wasn’t certain even counted as serious. She’d had a few short-term flings in college, but nothing worth mentioning. To assume that she was somewhat more experienced in any walk of life than Edward, who had been around for over a century, was outrageous. 

Alice stopped at an intersection. 

Becca hadn’t realized how far they’d already traveled. Because of how dark it was outside, it made it seem much later than it was. Being around Alice made her feel much better, though. She didn’t have any of Edward’s moodiness or any of Rosalie’s whatever that was. Alice’s mood appeared to be constant. 

“Do you know why Edward is so upset today?” 

Becca saw Alice frown underneath the streetlights. “I don’t know that it’s my place to tell you.” 

“Please, Alice?” 

“He’ll be really angry if I tell you,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Did you ask him?” 

“Yes. He told me he didn’t have a problem.” 

Alice rolled her eyes. “As I said before, this is all very new for him.” 

“What’s new for him?” 

“You are,” Alice said pointedly. She turned into a crowded parking lot, and Becca sat back in her seat, stunned because, after a month and a half, she was finally at a mall, but also because of all of the information that she had just accumulated but didn’t understand. 

“I’m also not sure if you noticed, exactly,” Alice frowned as she parked between two SUVs. “Well, I’m fairly certain that you did notice. Rosalie and Jasper disagree strongly with Edward about…all of this. They think you’re a threat to the family since he can’t hear your thoughts. It helps that I can see your outcomes, but they’re often blurry, and Edward makes a big deal out of it if I do search for them.” 

“I would never tell anyone anything,” Becca insisted. Even if she did, _she’d_ be the one who would look unstable. The Cullens, especially with how perfect they seemed, could probably get away with moving away and not facing any implications in the slightest. 

“I know that, and Edward knows that. Even Carlisle knows. But Jasper and Rose, well, they don’t trust people easily. Especially not humans.” 

“I’m not really human though, am I?” Becca said, raising her eyebrows. 

Alice wrinkled her nose. “If it smells like a human, and sounds like a human, then it’s a human. Anyway,” Alice’s eyes glinted in the dark. She smiled over at her. “Would you like for me to call you Becca?”

* * *

In just one hour, Becca had done more shopping than what would have normally taken her half the day back home. She and Alice had similar views on fashion—if you accounted for the differences in the styles of the time—which made for a quicker trip, and after the third time that Becca attempted to pay and Alice cut in instead, Becca gave up on even pretending that she was trying. It wasn’t as if money had any real value, anyway, and especially not to her. Just one of Alice’s credit cards probably had a higher limit than she would have ever seen back when she was Becca Fitzgerald. 

She could feel the stress melting off of her; all that pent up anxiety and fear disappeared the second that she stepped into Nordstrom. It wasn’t a store she frequented often—as a teenager it had been entirely too high for her budget, and she resolved to only purchasing statement pieces for herself as she transitioned into adulthood—but it was familiar. Even the smell of the store felt a bit like home. 

It likely helped that Edward wasn’t there. She and Alice didn’t speak much, but when they did, they held a light conversation. Alice seemed to know nearly everything about fashion, so Becca let her prattle on about it, listening avidly. It was like her own personal podcast. 

Perhaps the best part of the trip was that Alice insisted on carrying all of her bags. There were about a dozen of them and given that Alice was about two-thirds the size of Bella, she looked very similar to a coat rack. 

“I am so happy,” Becca declared as they walked out of their last stop—a shoe store. She’d chosen not three, but four, pairs of new shoes. A pair of beige pumps, a pair of black ones, a pair of booties, and new sneakers for gym class. Since she was still lacking her own mode of travel, she might as well suit up and take on running as a hobby. 

“I’m so glad you like shopping, Becca,” Alice said, beaming at her. “Rose does, but not nearly as much as I do. It’s so nice being with someone who likes it as much as me. It’s one of my favorite things to do in the whole world.” 

“I’ll come with you anytime you want,” Becca offered. “It’s one of mine, too. It’s just like painting on a canvas.” 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Alice agreed. Her eyes lit up and she spun around to face Becca. “We should go to Los Angeles next weekend!” 

Becca’s eyes widened and a smile began to spread across her face. She’d always wanted to travel to LA. “Could we? How long would it take?” 

Alice tilted her head as she considered it. “Driving there and back would take me about twenty-three hours…but Edward will let us borrow his Aston Martin, so we could shave off a few hours. We could also take a flight, which would only be three hours.” 

Becca frowned. She did need to consider Charlie. Once she got home tonight, he likely wouldn’t be happy about it, either. “Maybe not next weekend, then.” 

“Good point,” Alice agreed. “Spring break is in two weeks, and we could go for the whole week. We can tell your dad that I invited you on vacation with us.” Alice threw her arm around Becca’s shoulders. “Oh, Becca, we are going to be best friends.” 

Becca meant to ask how Alice planned to get around in Los Angeles if the sun was a deterrent, but before she could, she looked up and saw Edward and Jasper walking towards them. The mall wasn’t very busy, but nearly every person that Edward and Jasper passed turned around to stare at them. Becca wondered if this was the case everywhere that they went. 

Jasper was taller than Edward, but not by much. His features were slightly older-looking than Edward’s—like he was a college sophomore rather than the high school senior he was pretending to be. 

“Hi,” Edward greeted them smoothly as he and Jasper caught up with them. Alice handed him half of the bags without speaking, and Edward took them without reacting. 

“Becca, this is Jasper,” Alice said, stepping towards him. With her free hand, she knitted her fingers with him and looked him pointedly in the eye. “Jasper, call her Becca. Not Bella.” 

“Becca,” Jasper greeted, his eyes sliding to meet hers as he tilted his head towards her. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t glare at her, either. Becca was very sorry to realize that in a lineup between Edward and Jasper, she would probably pick Jasper over Edward in terms of attractiveness. 

“Jasper,” she returned, biting her lip. She glanced up at Edward. His face was still stony, and his eyes were still troubled. “We should probably get back, shouldn’t we? Before Charlie gets upset.” 

“He won’t be, as long as you tell him you were with me,” Alice told her. “He’s happy you’re making friends.” 

Becca nodded. Alice transferred the rest of the bags to Edward and gave Becca another hug. Then she turned around, still holding onto Jasper, and began walking towards the mall exit closest to the car she and Becca had driven. 

“I’ll take these,” Becca muttered, reaching for the four plastic bags nearest her. Her new shoes. Edward likely would have argued, had it not looked strange for him to be easily carrying so many of the bags. 

Without another word, Edward turned on his heel and began to lead the way towards the exit in the opposite direction.

* * *

“They don’t like you, you know,” Edward told her. They were away from Seattle now, in Bainbridge. They were immersed in such deep darkness that she couldn’t even see his face—Edward had neglected to turn the radio on this time. “Alice does, but none of the others.” 

“But you do,” Becca said, glancing over at him, even though she couldn’t see his expression. She wasn’t sure exactly what Alice had been thinking when Edward and Jasper had joined them, but whatever it was, she was grateful it had seemed to positively impact Edward’s mood. 

“Yes,” he said. He was driving one-handed again. This time his free arm was resting along the center console, inches away from her. “For better or for worse.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” his voice was sad. “That your existence has complicated a lot of things, and I don’t know what to do about any of them.” 

Becca frowned. 

Though she couldn’t see him, he seemed to be able to see her. He rushed to continue. 

“My siblings have always believed me to be obstinate. I have not changed in a century. But Becca, you have been here only a few weeks, and every belief I have ever held has suddenly wavered.” 

The car felt intimate, electrified, charged. Becca was afraid to speak—to even breathe—for fear that it would ruin the mood. 

“Most of it I don’t understand,” he continued. “Perhaps I’m not meant to if it makes you happier that way.” 

“Edward, I—” she cleared her throat. “I don’t understand most of it, either.”

“Yet you understand more than me.” He sighed. “You have said, several times now, that trust is earned, not given. I need to know—have I earned your trust?” 

Becca stilled in the seat. They were racing through the black roads, probably now closer to Port Angeles than they were Seattle. She had trusted him for weeks now. Had he held onto her words for that long? Did he believe nothing had changed between them? 

_Had_ anything changed between them? 

“You have,” she answered. 

“Then why won’t you tell me anything about you?” 

“Edward,” she frowned. “You know more about me than anyone else in the world. It isn’t like I know everything about you, either.” 

“You can ask me anything you’d like to know. I’ll tell you everything,” he promised. 

She stared out of the window. Her heart was racing again. It felt uncomfortable but in a good way. She knew that she should ask him about what Alice had said, about his mood earlier, so she could figure out what was bothering him. And yet Becca didn’t think she had the confidence to do that just yet. 

Perhaps because she already knew just what he would say. 

Perhaps because she didn’t want this conversation to be any heavier than it already was. 

“Tell me about your family, then, please,” Edward requested. “I’d like to hear more about them.”

Becca glanced over in his direction. “What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

Becca frowned, picking her cuticles. They were nearing Port Angeles now, evident by the city lights in the distance. Everything felt so intense. 

“Tell me about your siblings,” he suggested when she still didn’t speak. “What are they like?” 

Becca took a deep breath. It was one of the easier subjects, she supposed. She could talk about her siblings with no problem, so long as Edward didn’t start picking around for answers as to why she was here. 

“My sister’s name is Lizzie. Not Elizabeth; just Lizzie. She’s twenty. Or nineteen maybe. I don’t remember—her birthday is in December. She’s a sophomore in college. She goes to Rutgers, and she’s studying finance. Our brother Bennet is eleven. He’s in fifth grade. Really funny, really smart, all-around cool kid. I probably miss him the most. Lizzie and I are still close enough in age to be like sisters, but Bennet feels like he’s my kid a lot of the time.” 

“And your parents?” 

“My mom is an English teacher like I told you before. She teaches tenth and eleventh grade. My dad taught chemistry, but he works at an engineering plant now. They’re divorced, but I’m closer with him than my mom.” 

“Why is that?” 

Becca shrugged. “My mom and I clash a lot. She had these high expectations for my life, and I fit none of them. I know she loves me, but we don’t get along. I don’t miss her at all, actually,” she admitted. “We get into arguments daily. She has a very specific idea of how things should be, and if you don’t agree, then you don’t get along with her.” 

Even she could tell how melancholic her voice sounded. She saw, from the corner of her eye, now that the city lights were lighting the road, how Edward’s fingers twitched like he was going to reach out to her. But then he placed his hand on his lap and didn’t move it again. 

“A lot of things. She has an opinion about everything, and she always thinks that hers is the correct one. She’s the type of teacher who takes off points if a student doesn’t write their name in the right place on the paper. I’m positive that she’s the reason I hate reading, too. She wouldn’t let us read anything that she didn’t like—no dragons or fantasy. And she also has very strict rules about weird stuff. Like, Lizzie and I were never allowed to paint our nails black because she thought people would look down at us for it.” 

Edward frowned as he took all of this in. “And your father? What is he like?” 

“He’s the opposite. It really is no wonder they got divorced. He isn’t my real dad, though. Y chromosome wise, anyway. I met him when I was young though, like four years old or something, but I didn’t call him dad until I was in fourth grade. He spent all of those years trying to assure me that I was his kid and that he loved me as much as Lizzie, and that stuck, I guess,” she shrugged. “We used to go to breakfast together every Saturday morning to catch up.”

Her heart ached just thinking about him. Of the entire family, her father was the one she missed the most—perhaps that was why she didn’t have a problem with Charlie. His easygoingness reminded her of her own dad. 

“I’m sorry,” she frowned. “I’m talking too much.” 

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I asked. Tell me more about your father. What do you talk about with him?” 

“Lots of things. We go hiking together sometimes. We like the same foods too, so a lot of times we just go out and try new restaurants around us. Before the pandemic, of course,” she frowned. “We like the same movies and TV shows, and we generally have the same opinion on politics and world issues.” 

“Does he watch this Grey’s Anatomy show that you like?” 

Becca snorted. She tried to imagine watching any of the Grey’s Anatomy sex scenes with her father. “Absolutely not. We watch other shows, though. Dexter, Breaking Bad, Prison Break, Lost. I don’t know if any of these are out yet.” 

“Lost is,” Edward commented absentmindedly. They were on the road to Forks now—the final stretch. “I’ve never seen it myself, but several of your classmates enjoy it. They speak of it often.” 

Becca frowned, wondering why she’d never thought to bring it up. The car was quiet again. She now felt ridiculously down and depressed. 

“I miss my dad the most,” Becca said after several minutes of silence. “And Nicholas.” 

“Is that your boyfriend?” Edward asked, his tone carefully controlled. 

“He’s my cat. But he probably is the love of my life. He makes this sound whenever he sees me, this little whimper. He also has feline asthma, so he takes medicine daily. I’ve been wondering if someone is giving it to him. Bennet probably took over—he likes animals.” 

She watched his face. Becca wondered what would happen if she got a cat. Would its presence bother Edward? Would it tempt him? 

Did she care if it did? 

Yes. Yes, she did. 

“I haven’t been in a serious relationship since high school,” she said offhandedly. She struggled to keep her breathing even. She continued picking at her cuticles. It was painful now, but she couldn’t stop. 

“You haven’t found anyone you liked?” 

“It was tough in college. It’s a different vibe, you know. Then once I started working, I would see a lot of kids in abusive situations, _a lot_ of domestic abuse, and I guess it just made it harder to trust people.” She frowned. “I don’t know if that makes sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” he said. “The world is quite an unfair place, isn’t it?” 

“And arbitrarily so,” she agreed. She had tried, for a few years now, to understand why some people were put into worse situations than others. There was never a correlation. Misfortune led to more misfortune, but there often wasn’t a basis for it in the first place. 

This time when the car fell silent again, it felt much more normal. Neither of them had made much of an admission tonight, and yet it felt as though they had moved mountains. 

She wondered if it would be quite so hard to tell him the truth after all. 

“Becca?” Edward said quietly as they walked towards Charlie’s house. Just as he had when he brought her home from Port Angeles, he’d already placed all of her bags on the porch. Though the light was on, Charlie hadn’t noticed. Edward had parked under a tree across the street. In the darkness, Charlie wouldn’t be able to tell who was driving the car. 

“Hm?” she looked up at him. 

“Would you mind terribly if, on Saturday, we talked? I’d like to help you make the most of this life. But I can only do that if you let me.” 

Becca considered this. Saturday was still days away. She would have time to change plans if she needed—time to figure out if Edward was actually willing to help her. Time to figure out what she _needed_ help with. Biting her lip, she looked up at him and nodded. 

“I think I’d like that.” 

“Good,” he smiled at her. 

They had reached the steps, and she stood on the middle one while he stayed on the grass. They were eye level this way, and Becca couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his eyes looked in the light of the porch. 

As she turned away from him, he called her name softly. It was no higher than a whisper, yet it was the clearest sound she’d heard all day. Any annoyance she still harbored from his behavior earlier vanished—he said her name like he was holding it delicately in his hands. 

“I’m sincerely sorry I was rude to you earlier.” 

She squinted up at him. “Will you tell me why?” 

“Later,” he promised. “I hope you sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

She searched his eyes, waiting to see if he would add anything. When he didn’t, she swallowed. “Good night.” 

“Good night,” he answered. He smiled and waited until after all of her shopping bags were inside and she locked the door before leaving. 

It was after Becca had given Charlie details of the trip and vowed that she would never leave for Seattle without asking him first that Becca realized she had neglected to ask if Edward meant that he would be picking her up in the morning. She also didn’t have a number to call and ask. 

She wondered to herself, as she got ready for bed, how good his hearing was. If she were to call his name, would he hear her and show up? As she got under her blanket, smiling to herself, she had to force herself to refrain from even trying. 

Oh well, she thought, if he _did_ show up in the morning, then perhaps he could carpool with her and Angela. 

Becca fell asleep smiling just thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here we are! My thirteen-year-old self would undoubtedly be extremely confused to find out that not only did I spend the entire weekend writing this chapter, but that in just three weeks, I have written 60,000 words of this fic. LOL thank you all for the love and taking time to read this story! 
> 
> I will do my absolute best to have a new chapter by Wednesday/Thursday. This week will be much busier for me than normal, unfortunately 😕 but my birthday is next weekend! Due to the pandemic, I will be doing absolutely nothing but writing, so you can expect lots of good things to come :) 
> 
> Those of you who mentioned your thoughts on Rosalie's upcoming appearance, don't worry if you didn't like her in this chapter--she herself is a delicate character to write, and I feel like it would be ABSOLUTELY out of character for her to immediately be friends with Becca. I have a lot of plans for her. We'll see more talk about covid and Becca's life later on as well; last chapter definitely wasn't the last of it. 
> 
> Although I do have to say I am delightfully glad these characters aren't in cars together anymore. This chapter felt SO dialogue-heavy! 
> 
> Hope you're all safe and well <3 Feel free to tell me your thoughts, as usual!


	12. More Complications

It was a truth universally acknowledged that people were awful, and while it was no secret to Becca, it took a while for her to get accustomed to the fact that most people were in their way awful—which meant that she was probably awful, too. 

Her life had not been tragic by any means. Nothing, at least, like the children she worked with. 

She’d written her college application essay on the inch-long scar where hair didn’t grow on her head from her shunt surgeries, but even that essay was grasping at straws; she didn’t face any real repercussions from it. Sure, it was inconvenient, getting it checked or replaced every few years, but she didn’t have any implications. She had no trouble learning anything, no learning disabilities, no problems relating to any of her peers. 

Otherwise, Becca had always been exceedingly average. 

There was nothing about her that was exciting. Nothing extraordinary. Her mom never understood; she told her, every other week, it seemed, to stop worrying about it. Inevitably everyone’s life ended up not being particularly interesting. Most people _were_ normal, after all. Most people would get a job, work for the rest of their lives, spend maybe ten percent of that life doing exactly what they wanted. 

And ten percent was certainly not enough for her. 

But it was hard to live more than ten percent of your life doing what you wanted when you were not even sure what you wanted. 

Social work had been her third-choice career—naturally, her first inclination had been to go into medicine. But her grades became average in high school, and even more average in college, so going to med school wasn’t even an option. The next option was law school—become a politician, change the archaic policies, make the world better. But after taking Intro to American Politics, she quickly recognized that for most students it was a game. There was nothing genuine about living in a multi-million-dollar home while your constituents struggled to feed themselves. 

So, on a windy day in November, battling the walk to campus in an early snowstorm, without a clue in the world as to what she should pursue in life, Becca had seen an ad on an outside bulletin board about a paid internship. Three days a week, at an elementary school nearby. The intern would be responsible for entertaining the children who all staying at the program because their family could not take care of them. She enjoyed the job, enjoyed the money even more, and she loved those kids. Social work became the most logical major. 

But there were also the particularly hard days—kids who came in with their hair in different directions, kids who came in wearing the same clothes three times a week, children who smelt so bad it was obvious that they hadn’t had a bath in a few days. It extended into her first job at a Trenton clinic—babies who would be left alone in cribs inside of crack dens, children with oppositional defiant disorder who would have been shipped off to boarding school if their behavior didn’t keep them away, teenagers who were orphaned and quite literally alone in the world. 

Becca clung to the idea of helping those who could not help themselves. She endeavored to leave the world a better place than it was when she was born into it. She would tell herself that she was doing her job to make the world better. If she could not be extraordinary herself, then she would put her energy into making others extraordinary. 

But it should not have come as a shock to her that, after six assorted psychology classes and two years of dedicated fieldwork, being in a different reality did not make those original feelings of inadequacy disappear. 

If anything, she should have known from the beginning that the problems you don’t deal with always have a way of coming back a dozen times worse.

* * *

“Morning, Dad,” Becca greeted, coming downstairs after showering. Her hair was still wet, but she was grateful to be wearing clothes that made her feel more like herself—even though she did have to continue with the low-waisted jeans trend, at least she was able to find a black hoodie. She wore it underneath a royal blue bomber jacket; even in 2020, she would have been ecstatic to find a jacket like this one. 

Charlie grunted in response, not looking up from the paper. 

Becca slid the pale blue slip of paper for her college courses on top of his newspaper. “I need you to sign this.” 

“What is it?” Charlie replied gruffly, peering down at it. He eyed the ballpoint pen she sat down next to it. 

“My classes at Peninsula. They start next week.” She turned her back to him, busying herself with finding something for breakfast. 

Charlie glanced at her then back down at the paper, squinting at it. His eyebrows furrowed and he cleared his throat. “You’re registering for _three classes_ , Bells. That’s almost a full semester course load.” 

Becca shrugged. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat across from him. She eyed Tony the Tiger on the box—he was much larger than she remembered. “It’ll be fine. They’re only quarter classes.” 

Charlie frowned at her. “You don’t think this is a little much?” 

“No. My classes in Phoenix were a lot harder than the ones here. They don’t even offer AP classes in Forks. Besides, if my average drops below an A at the high school, I get kicked out of the college courses.” 

Charlie’s frown deepened. “I just don’t want you getting overwhelmed, Bell. You just got here.” 

“I won’t,” she promised. “Besides, I don’t have a job yet, remember? It’s just school and more school for me.” 

Charlie’s forehead creased. “And what about your friends? You won’t be able to take a spontaneous trip into Seattle if you’re taking three extra courses.” 

Becca swallowed. She hadn’t had Frosted Flakes since she was a child. “Seattle was a one-time thing. I just wanted to get some shopping done.” 

He frowned again but picked up the ballpoint pen. He glanced at the paper, then looked back at her. “ _Sustainable agriculture?_ ”

Becca frowned, too. Why did everyone hate on sustainable agriculture? They had a big storm coming in they didn’t start thinking about climate change. “It sounds interesting.” 

“This is um, a very practical class, Bella. I know the professor. They take you up near some farms in Port Angeles. You get to work with some workers on the weekend. By work, I mean you’ll be farming. In the dirt,” he raised an eyebrow. 

Becca hadn’t even considered this possibility. She knew that migrant workers were severely underpaid and often treated badly in Washington—now she could do her part to help them out too. If any of her sociology professors could see her now, they’d be proud. 

Charlie looked at her, waiting to see if she would change her mind, but then signed her sheet and slid it back to her, shaking his head. 

It took a few moments of prodding, but Becca steered the conversation back towards Charlie’s life. He prattled on and on about his teenage years. Becca found Charlie not only fascinating but also comforting. She wished that he didn’t think she was his daughter so that she wasn’t expected to already know some of his stories. Charlie, for instance, had wanted to go to college but couldn’t, due to the responsibility of taking care of his elderly parents. Thus, he became a policeman. Becca hypothesized that if he had been able to go to college, there was no way he would have entered the force. 

But he'd looked at her like she'd lost her mind when she asked him what was wrong with his parents. 

She was now listening to him talk about his first day ever on the job and how he’d had to wrestle a shoplifter to the ground, finishing her cereal, eying the microwave clock, and wondering if Edward was going to show up when Charlie trailed off. 

He cleared his throat. “I have something else I need to talk to you about.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to rack her brain for any mistake she could have made. Since the fated car accident and the doctors finding her shunt, Becca had been as careful around Charlie as possible, hoping that he would write off anything strange about her as just not knowing much about his teenage daughter. 

“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I heard you’re not going to the dance this weekend.”

“That’s correct,” she answered. She slouched against the chair, relieved this wouldn’t be about her. 

“Well, I was wondering why that is.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just not interested in dancing.” 

“Well, that’s good,” he said. He grinned at her. “In that case, you have plans.” 

“Plans?” Becca's eyebrows knit together. Her eyes widened in alarm. “What kind of plans?” 

“You remember Billy Black from the Rez?” 

Becca had to refrain from groaning. “Not really.” 

“Well,” he said, frowning at her reaction. “That’s who I bought the truck from. You seem to have a real problem with driving it, and I’m not just going to let it go to waste in the yard. We’re going to sell it back to him and then we’ll go and find you an automatic.” 

Her eyes were still wide, but she was almost touched. She got up and put her bowl in the sink. “You don’t have to do that, Dad.” 

“Now, I know I don’t,” he told her sternly. “But you’ll need to find a way to get to your new college courses somehow, right?” 

Becca just bit her lip and tried not to smile. She turned the water faucet on and watched the milk drain from the sink. 

She was _so_ close to some sort of freedom. At least the freedom of driving herself to the grocery store or going on car rides with music blasting. It was only a minuscule drawback that most of her favorite music didn’t yet exist. Bella Swan owned a scattering of CDs upstairs—perhaps she would have to sample them and find her favorites. 

In the back of her mind, she registered that she would have to cancel on Edward’s plan for her to tell him the complete truth this weekend. Oh well. There was always the next weekend. 

And the weekend after that. 

And the one after that. 

It certainly wasn’t like she was expecting to be transported across realities anytime soon, after all.

* * *

Edward didn’t come to her house that morning. Becca waited for him, expecting that he would show up in the small window between the time Charlie left and right before Angela showed up. But when she saw Angela’s car pull into the driveway, she struggled to remain her composure. Edward was her friend, just as Angela and Jess were. It wouldn’t be right for Becca to abandon them for him. Angela and Jessica had shown her great kindness over the past month and a half. She needed to be grateful. They were just as good to her as Alice and Edward. 

Except for, in the back of her mind, she knew that getting to know Edward Cullen was the only reason she existed here. 

She fretted the entire walk to the car, worrying that Edward wouldn’t show. The sun was behind the clouds though, so at least she didn’t have to worry about him skipping school because of that. 

“Good morning, Bella,” Angela greeted, smiling over at her. If nothing else, at least Becca could count on Angela Webber always being happy to see her. “I like your outfit.” 

“Thank you,” Becca smiled. There was faint pop music playing on the radio. Thankfully, Angela had the heat on, even if it wasn’t as cold as the day before. “I bought it yesterday.” 

“That’s right,” Angela answered, backing out of her driveway. “Jess said you went shopping in Seattle. Did you have fun?” 

Becca frowned, glancing away. “It was…interesting. It was really cold last night, though.”

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “Hopefully it will warm up soon. It’ll be April soon.” 

Becca frowned over at her; it wasn’t like Angela to make conversation in the mornings. Most of their rides were spent completely in silence, with just the radio on in the background. 

It _would_ be April soon. Becca stared out of the window. It was all green and gloomy; she missed seeing her favorite trees and flowers blooming, especially dogwood. At this point, she even missed the allergies that the pollen gave her. 

“Are you excited about the biology test today?” Angela asked as she turned onto the street that led to the high school. 

“Excited isn’t the right word,” Becca replied. She’d forgotten that there was a test at all. That must have been the reason Mr. Banner showed the documentary yesterday. Her sense of time felt warped—had it been only yesterday that she and the Cullens were in Seattle? 

“Is this your first test with Mr. Banner?” Angela asked. 

Becca sighed and nodded. They were pulling into the school parking lot. 

“They’re brutal. He gives the most difficult tests in the entire school.” 

Becca looked over at her, alarmed. If she failed the biology test, her average would drop below a B for sure. She wondered if Edward would let her cheat off of him. 

Becca definitely hadn't memorized all of the stages of cellular respiration that Mr. Banner would expect her to know.

“Well, don’t worry. Mike always freaks out at lunch and weasels the answers out of those of us who have the class earlier than he does.” As she spoke, Angela parked next to Mike’s SUV. “It’s not right, but it works. As long as Mr. Varner never figures it out.” 

Becca was about to laugh, but she stilled when she looked up and saw Edward across the parking lot, perched against the trunk of the silver Volvo. He was already looking in her direction. As soon as he saw that she had found him, he smiled. 

“I’ll catch up with you later, Ang,” Becca said as they got out of the car. 

Angela looked in the direction of Becca’s line of sight. She nodded. “See you later, Bella.” 

Becca took a deep breath and started towards the Volvo. 

“Hi,” Edward greeted her halfway. He was dressed in a baggy white sweater and light-washed jeans. It would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but his model-like features allowed him to pull it off. “How is your morning?” 

“Fine," Becca replied. "You didn't pick me up." 

He laughed. “Were you expecting me to?” 

“No,” she scowled. They started walking towards the English building. As what was becoming the norm, several students turned to stare. “I was just making an observation.” 

Edward smirked. He held the door open for her. It was still dark inside the hallway, but Edward led the way to Mr. Masen’s classroom. He twisted the doorknob and turned on the light. The classroom was empty—a cup of coffee was on Mr. Masen’s desk, and the date was on the board, but there was no other evidence that anyone had been inside. Edward sat down next to the seat that Becca usually sat in, leaving her no choice but to follow. She threw her backpack on the ground and slumped in her seat. 

“Mr. Masen always leaves his door unlocked. He comes in so flustered he won’t even notice that you’re here. He's currently in the teacher's lounge, printing copies of his new writing assignment. You would know that he always comes in like this, but you have a habit of getting here late, which is why I’ve brought you here—so you’ll be on time for once.” Edward answered her unspoken question. “And to respond to your…observation, I didn’t pick you up because I’m leaving school right before lunch today.” 

Becca frowned. “Why?” 

“I’m going hunting.” 

She groaned, slumping down in her seat. Couldn’t he wait until the night to go hunting? Couldn’t he wait until, at the very least, she wasn’t so dependent on his existence to keep her entertained? 

“Is something wrong with that?” Edward continued, watching her face and sounding amused. 

Becca flipped her hood over her head and leaned forward, putting her head down on the desk. She mumbled something so incoherent that even Edward couldn’t understand it. 

“What was that?” 

“I said, why can’t you go _after_ the biology test?” 

He smiled. “Is the biology test all you care about?” 

“Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s all I care about. I didn’t study and I’m not going to know any of the answers to the material from the past two weeks. If my average drops below a B, they won’t let me continue taking my Peninsula classes, which is ridiculous. I don’t need to know the Krebs’s cycle.” 

Edward pursed his lips. She could hear his fingers drumming on the desk. “Why have you been distracted, Becca?” 

She frowned; her face was still pressed against the wood of the desk. “I’ve had other things on my mind. Like, you know, acclimating to a new reality that I wasn’t born into.” 

He hummed in response. 

Becca frowned but still didn’t lift her head. 

“I’ll figure out a way for you to pass the test,” Edward promised. He stood up. “The bell is about to ring, though. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Oh, and Becca?” he called, now from the doorway. He waited until she looked at him. Grinning cheekily at her, he said. “You really should memorize the Krebs’s cycle and cellular respiration for yourself. You never know when you might need it.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. The bell rang and Edward was gone, Mr. Masen entering just moments later. True to Edward’s word, the teacher was frazzled. Becca put her head back on her desk as the rest of the students entered the classroom. 

She was going to have to stop tying her happiness to Edward Cullen. In the attachment style matrix, she was ticking all of the boxes for anxious-preoccupied. Becca needed to get it together or this really would end badly. 

Well, worse than it already probably would, at least. 

What Becca probably needed most though, was _therapy._

* * *

The rest of the day dragged on. She knew that she wouldn’t see Edward at lunch, but she still found herself hoping that he would decide to postpone this hunting trip. 

In trigonometry, Mr. Varner called her up to his desk before Jessica could ambush Becca about details from Seattle. 

“Miss Swan,” he said, handing her a manilla envelope. “This is about your classes at Peninsula.” 

Becca tried to smile at him as she took the envelope, but she couldn’t handle much more than a grimace. She headed back to her seat, stopping Jessica before she could even begin. 

“Sorry Jess, I really have to study for this biology test.” 

Jessica groaned. “But this is torture, Bella! I need details. You promised!” 

“And I’ll give them to you,” Becca frowned. “But later. I _really_ need to study if I want any hope of passing this test.” 

“Fine,” Jessica frowned. “But you’re telling me after school.” 

Becca nodded, then as Mr. Varner turned off the lights so that they could see the overhead projector, she opened the manilla envelope as quietly as she could. Her name was written on the outside in script. But it wasn’t about her Peninsula courses. She stared down at it in shock. 

_As promised, here is the answer key. It’s all multiple choice. In the right-hand column, I put together a mnemonic for you to remember the answers. You really should learn the Krebs’s cycle for yourself, though. Be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow._

He hadn’t signed his name, but Becca shook her head. She didn’t believe in the love languages—she thought they were vastly misunderstood and not indicative of much at the psychological level. 

But there was one thing she knew for certain. 

Edward Cullen’s love language was beginning to seem more and more like a mixture between gifts and acts of service.

* * *

It became a lot more obvious as to why the Cullens skipped school when she saw the sun peeking through the clouds after gym. 

The test had gone fine—Edward’s mnemonic had worked, and she was positive she had gotten a perfect score. Mike Newton has also become her savior; he and Jessica were driving to Port Angeles right after school to see a movie, which meant Becca got a ride with Angela, who despite her earlier attempts at a conversation, would never badger her for information about her friendship with Edward.

Once Angela dropped her off at home though, the evening seemed to pass even slower. Because of the biology test, they had no new material to study in the course for the night. Becca had already finished her essay for English, and the rest of the classes were still studying information she knew from her first time through high school. This meant that she had an awful lot of time to just sit and think—she tried to delay the inevitable depression by reorganizing her room and new clothing. 

Charlie called about an hour into this activity. 

“Bella,” he greeted. “I’m just calling to let you know I’m going to be working late tonight. I don’t know what time I’ll make it home.” 

Becca frowned into the receiver. “Is there something wrong?” 

“There was an animal attack up near Carlsborg,” he said sighing. “But I have to do the paperwork on it because it’s in my jurisdiction.” 

“You have to do paperwork about a dead animal?” 

The line was quiet for several moments. Finally, sounding like he would much rather be talking about quite literally anything else, Charlie said, “It was a dead human body they found, Bells.” 

Minutes later, even after Becca had assured Charlie several times that she would be fine at home alone, and even after Charlie insisted that it was nothing but a man who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time of day—bears were bad in this part of the country—Becca could not stop shivering. 

She triple-checked that she had locked the front door before heading back upstairs.

* * *

Either because she was at home alone or because of the day she’d had, Becca slept fitfully. 

And her dreams, consequently, were disturbing. 

She was out with her college friends at an overpriced restaurant in Hoboken that she knew well, sipping on cocktails and eating pasta by the pound, waiting for just the right moment to take the train into the city for a night out. The Hudson was in the distance, the skyline right behind it. 

Rosalie was there, too. Beautiful, exquisite Rosalie. She was always just out of their reach, but Becca's friends didn’t seem to mind—Rosalie followed them to Penn Station, then just a few feet behind them as they took the subway. Rosalie was there, wearing a black dress, in the underground beer bar Becca and her friends so often frequented. Rosalie never said a word. Not when they reached the club in Chelsea, not when they went to a ginger-haired philosophy grad student’s apartment in Morningside Heights to postgame. 

Becca turned around, in the dream, to approach Rosalie—to confront her inside the musty brick stairwell of the grad student’s apartment. Only when she got there, Rosalie morphed into someone else. It was her baby brother Bennet sitting on the dirty bottom stair instead. 

Even in the dream, Becca’s first instinct was to tell him to get off of the dirty stairs—who knew what sort of bacteria and infestations covered those bricks. But her brother looked so heartbroken that she could only stare down at him. 

His hair was wild and curly, going every which way. He had his thumb in his mouth the same way he used to do as a toddler, and he was dressed in his school uniform—white polo, blue slacks. He looked the same as she had seen him hundreds of times before. The freckles across his nose. The gap between his two front teeth. 

His eyes were sad though, devastated. 

“Becca,” Bennet whispered. “When are you coming back?”

* * *

She woke with a start and sat up, her heart racing. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a flash of light, but when she blinked it was gone. Frowning to herself, she reached over and switched on the bedside light. The analog clock she’d purchased on a whim in Seattle hadn’t yet been put up, though from its place atop the dresser she could see the time. 

2:47. 

Becca did the math quickly—she’d only been asleep for four hours, yet she was no longer the least bit tired anymore. Her heart ached for her brother. She wished, and not for the first time, that she had a picture of him here with her. Or that she could draw well enough to sketch his features. All that existed of him now was inside her head. 

If Bennet only existed inside her head, did that mean he wasn’t real? 

If this was the afterlife, why had she ended up in a reality without her brother? 

Becca took a deep breath and got up and crossed the floor; the floorboards were cold to the touch. It was completely dark outside. 

She turned and spotted her new running shoes in the corner of the room.

If Becca was back home, she would not even remotely consider going outside in the dark if she didn’t have to. Certainly _never_ without her taser, and certainly never at this time of the night. Her father had always told her nothing good happened after midnight. 

But that was in the city. Here in Forks, she was in the heartland of the granola people. Somewhere near here, someone was probably already climbing a mountain in the distance. 

Besides, there were no less than at least half a dozen vampires who lived in this very town, and she’d met most of them yesterday. The likelihood of her death just because she went for a run before the sun was up seemed low. It was likelier that she would get mauled by a bear here than killed by a human. 

And while Charlie had just told her hours before about an animal attack, she didn’t think there would be bears this close to the house. The hiker he told her about was thought to have been camping or something at the time of the attack. She wasn’t camping. 

She was getting some fresh air. 

She laced up her shoes, wincing slightly when she realized she still had to break them in. It was disappointing that she didn’t have anything to take with her—no phone or headphones, no watch or pepper spray. All she had was a pair of black gloves she’d found buried deep in one of the dresser drawers and her beautiful new bomber jacket. 

Becca heard Charlie snoring and sighed in relief that he was back. But she made sure to go down the stairs quietly—Becca had no idea what his reaction to her going for a walk in the dark would be. Probably not a good one.

The downstairs was about as dark as the outside appeared to be—nothing but the clock on the microwave glowed. 

Becca felt reminiscent of early mornings in airports, waking up before anyone else, driving through quiet and empty streets. The excitement of having somewhere to go. Now it all felt strangely inverted—not only did she have nowhere to go, but she also couldn’t go anywhere without someone else. 

Becca took a deep breath as she opened the front door. 

There were no porch lights on. Charlie had a few neighbors, but Bella hadn’t met any of them, and their houses were all dark, too. The temperature was, however, slightly warmer than earlier. At the very least, she couldn’t see her breath when she breathed. Becca started walking towards the forest behind the house. 

A single streetlight illuminated her path. 

Becca was aware of how stupid she was being. Terrible things happened in forests; _horrendous_ things happened in forests at night. But she felt rattled from that dream—upset wasn’t even the word to describe it. 

But she also didn’t think there would be any serious repercussions. After she died the first time, she’d ended up in the Twilight universe. If she died a second time, where would she go? Hogwarts? Spending eternity with Draco Malfoy didn’t seem like the worst thing that could happen. Maybe next time she’d even wake up as an eleven-year-old and be able to go through all of Hogwarts. 

Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet. Her eyes had begun to adjust, though she still couldn’t see much. 

Suddenly, Becca gasped. 

She had just gone a few steps down the path when she saw him. 

It was difficult not to—his skin was so pale that it reminded her of wearing a bright white shirt at the skating rink on fundraising nights when she was a kid. She thought that he was frowning at her, but she had to squint to be sure. The light from the street was dim. 

“Becca, what are you doing?” 

For just a second, her body flushed with annoyance. Back when she was Becca Fitzgerald, really Becca Fitzgerald, in her own body, she didn’t like talking to people before she had woken up for the day. She’d needed time to reset her mentality each morning before anyone bothered her. 

Yet she also knew, somewhere far and deep within her limbic system, or perhaps not very far and deep at all, that she was glad that he was with her. 

But she would never tell Edward this. There was no reason to. 

She narrowed her eyes at him instead. “I think the better question, Edward, is what are _you_ doing?” 

His feet didn’t make a sound as he stepped towards her. His eyes were narrowed, too. “Have you gone mad, Becca? It’s the middle of the night. Why on earth would you decide to go into the forest?” 

“I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing,” she answered, jutting out her chin. She attempted to sidestep him, but he reached his arm out to stop her. She ran smack into it, blinking at how hard it was. It felt more like running into the side of a house than his body. She sighed. “Fine. I’m breaking in my new shoes.” 

He snorted. “At three in the morning?” 

She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like the worst idea.” 

“I can think of a thousand better ones,” he offered. He gestured with his left hand—the arm of his right was still blocking her entry into the forest—towards the porch. “Come with me.” 

Becca frowned. She took a deep breath, scowling down at the ground, but allowed Edward to lead her over to the porch. 

They sat down together, just inches between them. Edward was not dressed for the weather; he was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. In the presence of any other company, either Edward would look hypothermic, or Becca would look like she had a high fever and the flu. 

The fact that the porch was cold beneath her didn’t help the situation. 

The sky was mostly covered in clouds, but there was a sprinkling of stars. Becca had often wished she was better at astronomy; she always got the North Star confused with planets. She wanted to ask Edward for the names of the ones directly above them, certain he would know, but she didn’t want to break the silence. 

It was quiet enough that she could hear his breathing, yet her heart was beating loud enough that she felt as though her pulse was shouting at both of them. It felt wrong to break the silence, but her mind was shouting at her. 

“Edward,” she said. 

He didn’t look at her. His eyes were fastened on the stars above them. Idly, she wondered how good his eyesight was. For him, with his naked eye, could he look at the stars as if he was looking through a telescope? 

“Hm?” he finally murmured when she didn’t continue. 

Becca swallowed. “I think I want to go home.” 

He glanced over at her. “Home?” 

“Back to New Jersey. Where I’m from.” 

He didn’t make a sound. He had stopped breathing, she noticed. The only sound now came from her pounding heart. 

“What makes you say that?” Edward looked away from her, straight at the streetlamp. “Aren’t you happy here?” 

She looked down at her feet, smiling wryly, moving the toe of her sneaker back and forth along the bottom step. “I’m doubting whether I can be happy at all, no matter where I am.” 

Edward frowned. Becca was beyond the time for crying, but her eyes stung anyway. He turned towards her, and his knee was just a centimeter or two away from hers. Becca pushed her hands down deep into her pockets, her fingers clenching into fists. 

“What brought this on?” Edward whispered. “Was it something that happened at school? Something yesterday? Was it me?” He cleared his throat. “Was it something that Alice said to you?” 

“No, Alice is great,” she promised. “And I think _you’re_ great, too.” 

His frown grew even more pronounced. “What is it, then?” 

How could she tell him? How could she articulate feelings that she didn’t even understand herself? How could she, Becca Fitzgerald, inside Bella Swan’s body, tell Edward Cullen that because she had only spent fifteen minutes with him, her day had been ruined beyond repair? 

How could she say any of that? 

She couldn’t. 

So, she steered the conversation outward, using the only methodology she knew. 

“Do you know what your purpose in life is, Edward?” 

“My purpose,” he echoed flatly. He laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Her forehead creased and she glared at him. “It isn’t funny, Edward.” 

“Becca, are you trying to tell me that you decided to attempt to get yourself killed in the middle of the forest, in the wee hours of the morning, just because you don’t know what your purpose is?” 

“No,” she snapped, feeling indignant. “Maybe I’m trying to get myself killed in the middle of the forest because I don’t want to _live.”_

His laughter suddenly ceased, and his mouth closed. She watched him flounder around for something to say. She knew what _she_ would say if a client told her that. The first step would be to access the risk 

Death was an inevitable part of life. She knew it, and everyone else knew it—why then, was it so difficult to talk about? 

“Is that true?” he murmured. “You want to die?” 

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” she admitted, frowning. “I don’t want to live, but I’m not sure that death is the opposite of that, exactly.” 

Her heart raced even faster at this new admission. It was painful to continue looking at him but felt even more painful to look away. His face was smooth, and he gave no clear reaction. He stood up fluidly. 

Becca’s eyes stung even more now. This was it. She’d finally convinced him that she wasn’t worth it, that her problems were too bizarre for him to deal with. 

But he leaned down and held his hand out to her. 

She put her hand in his. Becca was wearing gloves, so she couldn’t feel his skin against hers, but the gesture felt very intimate. 

“Where are we going?” 

“You need sleep,” he told her, pulling her up beside him. “When you don’t get enough sleep, your circadian rhythm is interrupted, and your neurotransmitters go haywire. It induces depression.” 

Becca blinked. She knew all of this, of course. But she didn’t quite know what to say. He led her quietly through the house, up the stairs so quickly they didn’t even creak and to her room. She could hear Charlie still snoring. Edward turned off her light and led her over to her bed. 

“Edward?” she said quietly. “Will you stay with me?” 

Becca couldn’t see his face. Her eyes were still acclimating to the darkness. But she heard him shuffle around the room—no doubt for her benefit—and sit at the edge of the bed. 

“Just until you fall asleep,” he said quietly. 

Becca nodded, satisfied, and curled up next to her pillow. She didn’t understand why his presence made such a difference to her. Why she was now able to feel so pacified? What was it about this pale mythical creature that made her feel so safe? 

A part of her also knew she had to tell him. 

“Edward, there’s something you should know.” She was so close to sleeping that her eyelids felt heavy.

“What’s that?” he whispered. 

“In my real reality, in the one that, I like, came from I mean, the one in 2020 with the crazy pandemic and crazy people, I’m not alive anymore,” she whispered back. She spoke so quickly that her words mushed together. 

The mattress jolted, and she felt him tense, but he said nothing. 

“Do you not understand what I said?” Becca frowned when he didn’t give her any sort of response. “I said that I’m dead, Edward.” 

“Me too,” he laughed. “Now go to sleep, Becca. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And as if she’d been given cold medicine, Becca drifted to sleep deeply and quickly. 

It was a shame to say that it would take her until the very next morning to realize why Edward had laughed so hard at her admission of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I'm a fool who can't stop writing this story even when I have a billion other things to do! And the chapters keep getting longer and longer 😖
> 
> ANYWHO, Edward's final line in this chapter is one I've had in my head since this story's conception. Also, Grammarly says this chapter has my worst score ever, even after I've spent an hour editing, so apologies if this was a horrible read 🤡I think it might have something to do with my usage of adverbs, but SMeyer uses a lot and I have to keep in canon! Lol 
> 
> For those of you who want more Cullen interactions, we will definitely have those very soon, I promise! We're just following along with the Twilight plot (although obviously tweaking it a bit). I'm continuing to realize how quickly Twilight unfolds. Literally, Bella and Edward have their first kiss and then the very next night she's being hunted down by James hahaha. Anyone who is a fan of Jacob, we will see him make a brief appearance soon as well :) 
> 
> Thank you so so so much for the birthday wishes!!! You are all so very very kind :) I am still so completely shook that people are reading and enjoying this story. It means a lot. I'll do my best to have a chapter up this weekend!


	13. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :) xx

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment her life had started to go downhill, but the more she contemplated it, the more she knew it had something to do with her career. 

The first year after graduation had been a huge learning curve. Working in the social work field was hardly anything like working in college—the biggest difference being that most of her jobs in college had been with families who _wanted_ her help. The very nature of her real-life social work was the opposite; not only did most people not want her help, but many of them also failed to recognize that they needed help in the first place. Becca would come home most days drained so much that she would fall asleep within minutes of coming home—other days she would spend the entire drive home crying in the car, then minutes later sobbing in her bed. In the first month of her job, she’d forgotten to eat dinner most nights of the week. 

But every morning, without fail, she would wake up, put on a bomb-ass professional outfit, and tell herself that she was making the world better action by action. 

Except that wasn’t a sustainable mindset. 

Nor a healthy one. 

And while Becca would blame the decline of her emotional stability on COVID, it wasn’t really COVID's fault. 

COVID was just a catalyst—everything else had been a long time coming.

* * *

When Charlie woke her up on Thursday morning, he was shocked to find her still asleep in bed. And when Becca woke up to his yell, she was shocked to find that she felt like she’d been dragged down the side of a mountain. 

She sat up, her eyes burning from exhaustion. She felt dazed and uncertain as if she'd just fallen asleep—and not sure whether the night she remembered had happened. 

“Sorry Dad,” Becca croaked. Her throat was raw. She tried to clear it, but it hurt more when she did that. “I must have forgotten to set an alarm.” 

Charlie sighed and shook his head. “You’re not making a great case for taking those college courses, Bells.” 

Becca coughed. Her head was aching, and she felt terrible. 

“Sorry,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say. 

Charlie sat down on the edge of the bed and frowned. “You alright, kid? You look a little…off.” 

“I feel _awful,_ ” she admitted. She coughed again. 

“You sure get sick a lot, Bells. This is the third time in a month.” Charlie’s frown deepened. “Did you feel this way last night?” 

“No. It’s probably just a cold. Or maybe allergies.” 

Charlie raised an eyebrow and stood up, taking several steps back towards the door, putting space between the two of them. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat from the doorway. “I’ll call the school and tell them you won’t be coming in.” He already had one foot out the door. 

Becca nodded weakly. “Could you also call Angela and tell her not to pick me up?” 

Charlie grunted and closed the door behind him as he left the room. 

“Call the station if you need anything,” he called once he was already halfway downstairs. 

Becca fell back against the bed, closing her eyes. She sniffled—she didn’t feel like she had a fever. Perhaps it _was_ just allergies. Even though the temperature didn’t yet feel like spring in Forks, they were closing in on the middle of March. 

But her mind reminded her of what was happening in the world she came from, and her heart began to race. 

This is 2005, she reminded herself. Covid doesn't exist. 

Still, as she heard Charlie mumbling over the phone, then the slamming, minutes later, of the front door as he made his way to his car, the adrenaline was coursing through her body. 

This was the first time she’d been sick like this, in her body or this one, since before the pandemic began. She sniffed at the air, but there was nothing particularly pungent in the room. 

The house was empty and eerily quiet. It was by far the worst part about living here in Forks—the silence. After she’d heard the news of the animal attack, it was the silence that caused her fears to augment. When the world was quiet, her mind was loud. Constant noise at night was something she was fully accustomed to, something to tune into, to shut her thoughts off, and even after six weeks in Forks, she still had trouble sleeping when everything was quiet. 

Becca coughed, wincing at how phlegmy it sounded, and attempted to trace her memories from the night before, then looked over the room for any sort of evidence that Edward Cullen had been there at all the night before. Perhaps it all had been just a dream. 

It certainly didn’t help that most of her existence in this reality felt surreal. 

But her running shoes were in the corner of the room. The analog clock was still placed haphazardly on the dresser, atop her Carl Jung books. Her closet door was open and still full of all her clothing, the gloves she’d worn outside on her nightstand. Nothing appeared out of order. She went to the window and opened the curtains, frowning at the bright light that flooded inside. It was odd how quickly she’d come to resent the sun—just a few months ago, at the beginning of a New Jersey winter, she would have been delighted to have the sun beating down on her. 

But…if Edward had shown up when she was about to enter the forest if he had been in her room last night, that felt much more wrong now than it did underneath the dark sky. She knew if she thought hard enough about it, that in Twilight, Edward used to sneak inside Bella’s room each night. Becca also remembered vaguely seeing something in the corner of her eye before she turned the light on—had that been him? 

Well, if he had taken to sneaking into her room, that wasn’t going to fly. 

Her sheet had come off of the bed, and she sat down then rolled over so that she was on the bare mattress. Becca felt like she was in some sort of limbo. The longer that she had been here, the more that her real-life began to seem so far away. It began to seem normal that she was spending multiple hours a day with a mythical creature, living in the house of a man who was very much not her father, and spending her days as a teenager. She still winced when she thought of Bennet, and she missed her sister too, albeit not as much. 

But it was also true that in those last few months of 2020, life had been unbearable. Not just for her, but for everyone, it seemed. 

Becca’s entire life had been spent dreaming about the future, planning the next step, and often the next step after that, before even getting past the one she was on. It was always about climbing a ladder, going up, up, and up, never pausing to enjoy the rung she lived on. It was exhausting. As much as she sometimes did feel trapped in this world, it was still so much calmer. 

It was nice to have moments where the repercussions of life didn’t seem quite so large. 

She laid back against the bed, nuzzling her face into her pillow. Becca knew that she needed to see if Charlie had any painkillers in the bathroom, but she didn’t have the energy to get up and check. She would give up her left thumb for a shot of Dayquil. 

Hopefully though, how she was feeling now was just related to the lack of sleep she’d gotten the night before. 

She fell back against the bed and closed her eyes, determined to sleep off whatever this sickness was, all the while chanting in her mind. 

_I do not have COVID. I do not have COVID. I do not have COVID_

* * *

Her sleep was fitful. She didn’t dream, and the entire time that she was asleep, she felt as though she was just moments from waking up. 

When she finally did decide to get up a few hours later, her room was flooded with light. Becca stretched and squinted, wincing. Her body was achy, and her head continued to feel congested. She stumbled on the way to the bathroom, then rifled through the medicine cabinet. Charlie had three variously full bottles of aspirin, an outdated bottle of ibuprofen, and an expired bag of lemon-flavored cough drops, half of which she melted—she wasn’t too sure about the science of that one. 

She grumbled to herself but opened the ibuprofen bottle anyway. She would have to restock this cabinet eventually, too. Perhaps on Sunday she'd make a trip to the store and buy everything she could think of. Becca needed fully effective ibuprofen. Claritin. Guaifenesin. And naproxen, eventually. While her period hadn’t yet come in this reality, which wasn’t abnormal for her—her period didn’t come quite come like clockwork, especially when she was stressed—she knew that it would come and it would terrorize her whenever it finally did. 

Becca didn’t bother to brush her teeth as she left, hobbling downstairs. She took the ibuprofen pills by the sink in the kitchen, then leaned against the cabinet. 

Charlie had left the television on for her, and The Price Is Right was playing, a show she vaguely remembered watching in her grandma’s living room in Patterson as a kid. Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she listened to Drew Carey’s voice float throughout the house, then rifled through the room looking for something to eat. The cabinets were mostly bare; Becca couldn’t even find any cans of soup or anything that would soothe her throat. She and Charlie lived off of takeout or easy meals for the most part, as Becca hadn’t yet gotten around to learning to cook the way she had always planned to eventually. 

And it wasn’t so much that she was a bad cook. She just thought that cooking took way too much time and was a lot of effort to put into just one meal. All that mixing, cleaning, and steps got to her. Back at home, she had fully functioned off of her rice cooker, Wegman's pasta sauce, canned foods, or just baking chicken in the oven. She knew the deep freezer at Charlie's was full of fish he caught, but she had no clue whatsoever on how to cook that, and she wasn’t about to try and induce food poisoning in her already lacking current state of wellness. 

Becca shivered; the house was also much colder than she’d thought it would be this morning—she found the thermostat in the hallway and hiked it up several degrees. 

Her stomach grumbled. Right at that moment, she would give up her _right_ thumb for some chicken noodle soup from Wawa. 

If Charlie delivered on his promise to get her a car this weekend, she really was going to spend at least five hours of the day at the store. 

It was on her slow walk back to the kitchen that she caught sight of the small textbook looking phonebook on the table. 

At that moment, Becca felt that the phonebook was perhaps the greatest invention of the pre-technology age. Just because she didn’t currently have Edward Cullen’s number didn’t mean she couldn’t find it. 

Becca pursed her lips, now tempted, and glanced out of the window. It _was_ sunny outside. The likelihood of the Cullens being at school today was very low. 

And well, Edward Cullen wasn’t the worst option for company. She would also be able to force him to tell her about last night. 

Becca thumbed through the phonebook. She hadn’t seen one in years, not since she was a child at her grandparent’s, and that phonebook had certainly been a lot thicker than this one. It was for the entirety of Clallam County, so as she went through the last names, there were many more names that she didn’t know than the few that she recognized from the students at Forks High School. 

There, listed a quarter of the way down, she found it. 

_Cullen, Carlisle_

There was also a street address listed next to it, but Becca didn’t recognize the street name. Perhaps the Cullens didn’t live in town; it was possible. 

Taking a deep breath, she coughed then winced again, and picked up the phone and dialed the number. 

It rang three times, then there was a click. 

“Hello?” A woman answered, sounding vaguely confused. It wasn’t Alice, and Becca was almost positive it wasn’t Rosalie either, though she’d only heard her talk once before. It must be Edward’s mother. What was her name? Esther? Esra? Esme? “This is the Cullen Residence.” 

“Um, hi,” Becca greeted, then frowned at how terrible her voice sounded. She sounded as awful as she felt. “My name is…Bella Swan. I was wondering if Edward was there?”

If Edward, like Alice had said, hadn’t called her Becca to his family, then she probably shouldn’t either. 

There was a pause. When the woman spoke again, she sounded truly apologetic. “I’m so sorry, but he’s out with his brothers. Could I take a message?” 

Becca wanted to groan. She had no way of knowing if what the woman was saying was true or if it was just a lie to cover up their supposed absence from school. While Becca suspected it was a lie, she didn’t yet feel as though she could call this woman out on that. 

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Can you just tell him I called?” 

“Certainly, dear. Have a lovely rest of your day.” 

“You too,” Becca frowned, hearing the click as the lady hung up. 

She placed the phone back on its cradle and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. What was she meant to do now? Call Charlie and tell him there was no food? She could just go back to bed, she supposed. It wouldn’t be the worst idea. 

Just as she was about to convince herself to head back upstairs, the phone rang. 

Startled, Becca remembered to look at the caller ID before picking it up. 

_Cullen, Carlisle_

“Hello?” 

“Becca?” 

Becca smiled. It was Edward. She’d been right—he wasn’t out with his brothers; they were all just out of school because of the sun. 

“Hi, Edward." 

There was a pause. Becca pulled the phone away from her ear as she sneezed. 

“Why aren’t you in school?” Edward asked. 

She frowned. She could ask him the same thing. He was so hypocritical. “I’m sick.” 

“Sick,” he repeated flatly. “Are you alright?” 

“Generally speaking, yes. But I was wondering if you could do me a solid and bring me something to eat? Preferably some soup? Charlie doesn’t keep much food here, and I haven’t been able to do the shopping without him. I’m stranded here though because I can’t drive the truck. I’m going to get a car this weekend, actually. I haven’t told you yet, but I won’t be able to hang out with you this weekend. On Saturday, I mean. Anyway, if you could just get me some soup, I’d really appreciate it. I know the sun’s out—” 

Edward interrupted her. “Of course.” 

She had been rambling because she was nervous, and she was nervous because she was certain that the night before had happened and that it had meant something. 

Becca blinked. “Really?” 

Edward was quiet for a few seconds. “Yes. I’ll bring it by. Do you need anything else?” 

She knew then that calling him had been the right move then. 

“Dayquil if you can find it. Guaifenesin, and anything like Claritin. I don’t know when it was invented. I usually get the generic CVS brand, but anything will work. And ibuprofen, please.” 

“I’ll be there soon,” he promised. 

The line disconnected before she could answer. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror Charlie kept opposite the phone table and winced. Her hair was going everywhere, her face was red and blotchy, and she really did look as though she had been dragged down the side of a mountain. 

Sniffling again, she hurried back upstairs to get ready.

* * *

She heard the doorbell ring, a half-hour later, and though she had been expecting it, she was still startled and whirled around. She had tried to make herself presentable, but there was little she could do when her skin was splotchy, and her nose was snotty. Becca hurried to twist her hair into a bun on the top of her head, then glanced out of the window. The silver Volvo was parked right beside the truck. 

Becca went down the stairs as quickly as she can; her head was still pounding, and the ibuprofen she’d taken before had given her little relief. Judging by the ache she felt deep in her teeth though, she had concluded that it was her allergies. Usually, they flared up this time of year anyway, though she wasn’t certain what type of plant had sparked them here. 

Edward was standing just outside the door, wearing a black hoodie with the hood up and dark sunglasses. Becca squinted as the sun reached her eyes, then held the door open so he could enter the house. 

In his left arm, he held a paper bag. With his right, he shoved the sunglasses he was wearing into his pocket. He set the bag on the counter and started pulling out cans and assorted goods. 

It appeared oddly domestic, given the fact that he was a seventeen-year-old. Then again, so was she, she supposed. 

“I got an assortment of everything, because I wasn’t sure what you needed, exactly.” 

Becca eyed the contents of the bag. He’d gotten multiple different types of soup and a half dozen different types of medicine. “Did you get this from the grocery store?” 

“No,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I went a bit out of town. Most people in Forks think we’re camping this weekend.” 

She was aware of his eyes on her as she heated the soup and took a shot of the Dayquil, wincing at the familiar taste. She popped two of the pills, then chased them down with water. Neither one of them spoke—the television was in the background, now playing some sort of soap opera she didn’t recognize. Dramatic music was playing. Becca turned the burner off, poured the soup into a bowl, and sat down at the table. She was so hungry that for once it didn’t bother her that Edward wasn’t eating anything. 

Edward sat down across from her and frowned. “How are you feeling?” 

“Terrible,” Becca said. “But I think it’s just allergies.” 

“You just seem different,” he noted. “More…nervous. More on edge.

“This is the first time I’ve been sick since the pandemic happened back home.” 

“Ah,” Edward said quietly. 

"But I don't think it's that," she hurried to say. "That wouldn't make sense. I'm not sure my symptoms even match up, anyway." 

She swallowed. The kitchen window curtains were open, but Edward sat just out of the light. She wondered what he would do if she asked him to move slightly to the right—whether he would do it or not. 

They were both quiet for a few minutes—Becca because she was unsure how to bring up what she wanted to know, and Edward because he didn’t want to interrupt her. Finally, as she finished her food and pushed it away from her, she cleared her throat. 

“Edward,” she said. He met her eyes. His eyes were lighter than usual, glimmering gold in the light. “What were you doing outside of my house last night?” 

His forehead creased. He knitted his fingers together on top of the table and glanced down to avoid her eyes. “You've indicated before that you don’t see me and my family as dangerous. But that doesn’t mean that all of my…kind aren’t a threat to you.” 

Becca’s eyebrows furrowed. She vaguely realized that Edward went to great lengths to avoid the word ‘vampire’ in his speech. “What? Are you saying that there was, like, a vampire in the woods?” 

“From what I can tell, yes. There have been a series of attacks within a fifty-mile radius of here, which isn’t much of a distance. There was an attack last night, not too far from here—about a fifteen-minute drive.” 

Becca’s face turned white. “That was a vampire?” 

“We believe so. It appears to be a traditional attack. Stylistic of one, anyway.” 

“Charlie was there,” she said quietly. “That’s why he wasn’t home until late last night. He was investigating it, something about how it was in his jurisdiction.” 

This didn’t make Edward happy—that much was obvious. 

“Becca, and please don’t take this the wrong way—I’m not trying to take away your freedom of choice—but I’d rather that you avoid going near the woods.” 

Becca frowned. She sneezed again, then sniffled. “You know Edward, as admirable as your endeavors for my protection are, I’m just not sure that they are relevant.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Well, if there’s a vampire who is out to get me, what’s stopping them from just breaking inside the house, exactly? Like is a locked door going to keep them out?” 

Edward’s eyes hardened. “There’s an extreme difference, Becca, between you being inside your house and outside in the woods.” 

“Actually, I think the difference is quite minuscule,” she said, getting up and putting her bowl in the sink. She filled it with water, then dumped it out. “I mean, you would know, right? Considering you were in my room last night.” 

He frowned. “You asked me to stay, Becca.” 

She rolled her eyes. “No, I mean before that. Before I saw you in the forest. You were in my room.” 

“What are you talking about?” he questioned. “I wasn’t in your room. Not until after I saw you, anyway.” 

“Well, someone was,” she insisted. “I saw a flash of light when I first woke up last night. If it wasn’t you, then who was it? This vampire who is attacking people?” 

Edward shook his head. “No, I would have picked up on the scent if someone had been in your room. I would be able to sense it even now, from down here at the table. There isn’t a trace of anyone but you and Charlie.” 

Becca frowned down at her feet. Maybe she was losing her mind after all. 

They began talking of lighter things, namely the biology test. Edward teased her about the stages of the Krebs’s Cycle, to which Becca avoided each question he asked. She could barely remember the steps of mitosis—how was she meant to remember all of those formulas? She felt much better already, though. Her headache was wearing off, which she attributed to the Dayquil, and she and Edward migrated over to the couch where the mindless soap operas were still playing. 

They were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, an empty cushion in between them, but Becca’s curiosity, now that she could finally think straight, was like a force field between them. 

“I have a question about vampires,” she said. 

He glanced over at her. “Do you even have to ask?” 

“I thought I explained this to you before—I don’t know everything about you. Just something. But anyway, your type of vampire is so different from every other legend. Most of the time it just doesn’t make any sense.” 

He pursed his lips. “What is your question, exactly?” 

“I just want to know how you exist. Isn’t your species mathematically impossible?” 

He looked amused. “Explain that, please.” 

“Well, mathematically, the species just shouldn’t exist.” She sighed. “I mean, your family is an outlier, right? Most vampires don’t drink the blood of animals. So, if every vampire is drinking from a human even, let’s say, twice a week, that means that each of those humans would either turn into a vampire or die. The more vampires that are made, the less available humans, which would make tensions high. You can’t drink blood from a human and have them just go back to being normal, right? The venom spreads or whatever. So that means that taking into consideration that the human population is finite, if vampires could exist comfortably, the entire population would turn into them. And vampires are immortal.” 

Edward smirked. “That’s logical, but you’re missing a key point.” 

Becca frowned. “Which is?” 

“Well, you’re assuming that there is a large population of vampires. If there are roughly 6.5 billion humans on earth and only approximately 500 vampires, then those vampires could exist comfortably eating a few times a week.” 

“The Earth’s population is only 6.5 billion?” Becca asked. 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Is it much larger in the year 2020?” 

“Only by a billion or so,” she said, her frown deepening. “We hit seven billion my sophomore year of high school, in 2011. 

“See,” he said. “That answers your question. The population growth is exponential. The world’s population hit one billion for the first time in 1801. Now, just two centuries later, it’s almost seven times that. But furthermore, just because creatures are immortal…doesn’t mean that they don’t die.” 

“Oh,” Becca said. She nodded. “Right. I already knew that.” 

“You did?” 

“Yes. Sometimes I forget certain aspects of your world. It comes in pieces. Sometimes you’ll do or say something that’ll jar it, and then I’ll remember.” 

Edward frowned. “And you still aren’t going to tell me how you know even some of these things?” 

“I wonder if it’ll upset you,” she wondered aloud. In fact, she was certain that it would. It bothered her just being in a fictional world. If she suddenly found out her existence _was_ that fictional world, then she would be beyond coping. 

“Try me,” he encouraged. 

She considered it. 

“Well, first,” she said, pulling her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Tell me something.” 

“Yes?” he prompted. 

“My blood…Bella Swan’s blood, that is…is supposed to smell, like, really good to you. She compares it to being like heroin for a heroin addict, which I do have to admit is insensitive, I think. Addiction is a disease. But that’s moot for now, I guess. Does my blood, does her blood, I mean, smell good to you?” 

His jaw clenched. She took that as an affirmative. 

“You know about that?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. “But you’re so good with being around me that I wasn’t sure if it was a thing or not.” 

He frowned. “It’s a thing. Believe me.” 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” 

Edward laughed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. 

“Mind over matter,” he said, looking over at her. He seemed to register something, for his smile fell. “Becca, I have to make a confession. Perhaps before we talk further about how you know all of these facts about me.” 

She raised her eyebrows for him to continue.

“I am…quite concerned about your wellbeing.” He frowned. “Perhaps more so now that I know you have been aware of how fragrant your blood is for me, yet you haven’t attempted to put any distance between us. Not to mention the stunt from last night, or the admissions you made on the porch. You said that you do not want to live, and that bothers me greatly.” 

“I also told you I was already dead,” she pointed out, though her hands were shaking from the fact that her not wanting to live bothered him. “And you laughed and said, ‘me too.’” 

“Three a.m. is hardly the time for existential conversations, Becca. I said that to calm you down. You needed to go to sleep.” He sighed. “I also don’t know that you’re dead.” 

She glared at him. “That is the _perfect_ time for existential conversations. And I told you—I already know that I’m dead.” 

“I know that you think you are,” he sighed. “But I can hear your heart beating. The blood pulsing through your veins.” 

“Well of course you can,” She said, rolling her eyes. “This is Bella Swan’s body, not mine. This body is viable—I’m saying that me, myself, Becca Fitzgerald’s body, is not.” 

He pursed his lips. “And where then, do you suggest that this Bella Swan drifted off to? Is she in Becca Fitzgerald’s body somewhere?” 

“I don’t know, okay?” she ran her hands over her thighs to try and calm herself. “But I just know that my body, as in Becca Fitzgerald’s body, is dead. I don’t know if this is my soul or something that has suddenly been placed in this body or whatever, but I am dead.” 

“But how can you _know_?” Edward pressed. 

Becca was a few steps away from hyperventilating. If Edward kept this up, he was going to induce a panic attack. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself, then closed her eyes. “I know because I know. Let’s leave it at that.” 

“Do you remember dying?”

Did she? Did she remember what it was like? Did she remember her cells going out, one by one, in just minutes? In no longer than it took for the sun’s light to reach the Earth? 

The answer was yes. Yes, she did. 

“Edward,” Becca warned. “You told me before that you wouldn’t force me to tell you anything. I’m not ready to talk about this yet.” 

She heard him sigh. 

“But I’m alright,” she promised, opening her eyes to meet his. “I’m not going to off myself just because I feel like it.” 

“Good,” Edward answered. “Because I strongly suspect that if you try to die in this reality, as you call it, then you _will_ die. I know that you think you are invincible here, but I don’t think there is any evidence of that.” 

She frowned. “Well, I think there is plenty of evidence.”

“Such as?” 

She glared at him. “Well, for starters, I got hit by a van on like my third day in here. Did you forget?” 

He was staring at her with an impenetrable gaze. He frowned. “The van didn’t touch you, Becca.” 

“Yes, it did,” she insisted. “And you dragged me away from it.” 

“No,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “I pulled you out of the way. The van never came close to touching you.” 

“Well still,” she frowned. That further proved her theory, then. “In Port Angeles, with those men, you were there before they could do anything.” 

“I don't think that you really believe that,” Edward said. “You were rattled that night.” 

“Yes,” she frowned. “Maybe because I was being chased down by four men who were double my size? You have to admit, Edward, that it’s odd that you’ve been there to ‘save’ me each time something drastic has happened. The van, Port Angeles, last night.” 

A dozen emotions flickered across Edward’s face. His eyebrows furrowed, then returned to their normal place. His forehead creased, then smoothed. “What is it that you’re saying, exactly?” 

“I think you know what I’m saying, and I think you agree with me.” Becca shrugged. She pulled the afghan blanket from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. Leaning her head back against the couch, she closed her eyes. "Now, I'm going to take a nap to try and appease both my psyche and my immune system. When I wake up, we can talk about how I know everything that I do." 

She didn't have to look at him to know that he was frowning at her. 

"Do you promise?" he asked. 

"I promise," she vowed. She leaned back even further. "Just wake me up in about an hour and a half. Whenever I'm done with my first REM cycle." 

If gestures made sounds, she would have heard him rolling his eyes. But as it was, she wouldn't realize, even when he woke her up in ninety-seven minutes, how he had moved off the couch entirely to give her room to sleep. Nor would she realize how he cleaned the kitchen and put everything away. 

She only registered, as she drifted to sleep, that suddenly she wasn't so apprehensive about telling him everything she knew when she woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew...got some of those logistics out of the way! 
> 
> I am SO sorry this chapter is coming today and not on Friday, which was my intention. Last week was really rough for me. Jobs and hating the world/life right now and capitalism and all that! My birthday induced a total existential crisis and then I had a tough time getting this chapter to be right...this is the third attempt--ideally, I wouldn't like it to be quite so dialogue-heavy but LOL you don't even want to see the first two versions of this!
> 
> But you can thank the current snow on the East Coast for this version getting finished--I don't have to work tomorrow! 😙😎
> 
> My 10-year-old niece (who has never seen or read anything Twilight-related btw; she's only listened to me recount the entire plot to her once this summer) told me to "write about that werewolf dude" LOL. I did not take her suggestion, but he will likely make his appearance two chapters from now. The next chapter will be a continuation of this one! Not a lot of shifting in locations. A lot more admissions and epiphanies. 
> 
> As usual, thank you SO much for all the kind things you all say and for giving this story kudos ❤️ Seriously cannot believe I've gotten this far in the story just in the month of January. 
> 
> I'm going to try and update on Wednesday as usual. This week should be a lot calmer for me than the last one, but with the world that we live in, who knows?! In any case, I hope you are all staying safe, sane, and happy, wherever you are in this crazy crazy crazyyy world!


	14. Mind Over Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you're reading this to get away from the real world, COVID is mentioned a fair bit in the first 1500 words! You can skip if you'd like :)

“Becca?” Edward whispered. She frowned, then opened her eyes and squinted at him. He was kneeling beside the couch, his face just inches from hers. “You told me to wake you. How are you feeling?” 

Becca stretched, then yawned. She stared at him, amazed. “You actually woke me up in light sleep. How did you do that?” 

He shrugged. “Your heart rate. It slowed.” 

“You’re better than my apple watch,” Becca said. “That’s impressive.” 

“Your what?” Edward frowned. 

She remembered how she used to wake up with it every morning. Amazing that she didn’t need it here in this reality, or really miss it at all, even. She shook her head. “Never mind.” 

Edward looked like he wanted to press her for information, but he changed his mind. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked instead. 

His face was so close to hers that she could smell his breath; it washed across her face, so sweet and delectable that she had to close her eyes. 

Becca was momentarily stunned. She opened her eyes again. “Hm?” 

Edward smiled. “I asked you how you are feeling.” 

“Better, I think. I’m pretty sure it’s just my allergies.” 

She pushed herself upward, sitting against the couch. Edward joined her, halfway between the middle cushion and the opposite side of the couch. Becca adjusted the light blue blanket, so that it was fully wrapped around her, then leaned her head back. Her nose was still congested, but at least her head was no longer pounding. 

“What time is it?” she wondered. She could see the sun against the curtains of the west window. 

“It’s just after four o’clock. You were sleeping for almost two hours.” 

Becca nodded, this time pulling her legs up so that she was sitting cross-legged on the couch. She felt oddly buoyant, as if that nap had rejuvenated her body entirely. She could think clearly again about her placement in this world, about Edward’s point in this reality, about what was going on. 

Edward had turned the television volume down on low, but she could see that the Ellen Show was on. 2005 Ellen’s hair looked atrocious. 

“What’s covid?” Edward questioned suddenly, tilting his head and snapping her back into the moment.

Becca froze. “What?” 

“Covid,” he repeated, his eyes searching hers for her reaction. “What is it?” 

“Why? Did I say that in my sleep?” she frowned; she couldn't have. "I don't talk in my sleep." 

“You don’t,” he agreed. “I found it written at the top of your biology notes on the table. You must have left them out. I’ve never heard of it.” 

Becca very much wished she had never mentioned the pandemic to him earlier. For just a few minutes, she’d been able to peacefully pretend that she was waking up from a nap, as if the life she was currently living was normal. As if she didn’t have to think about any of that darkness that lived down deep in her mind. 

She was just a schoolgirl out sick from school with a very attractive boy keeping her company. The time had been passing lazily, the sun shining through the curtains, which Edward still expertly avoided. 

Covid didn’t even exist yet in this reality. Why was it still haunting her now? 

“Is Covid the name of the virus that caused your pandemic?” Edward continued when she didn’t speak. 

Becca nodded. She looked away from him, trying to find something to change the topic and hoping that he would drop it. She glanced at the television. Ellen was currently interviewing…John Stamos?

“Is that John Stamos?” Becca asked, dumbfounded. The screen was much more pixelated than she would have liked, but even the pixelation couldn’t ruin his face. Uncle Jesse had been her first real crush. 

Edward looked at the television. “I don’t watch TV often, but yes, I do believe that’s him.” 

Becca raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never seen Full House?” 

“I’ve seen it,” Edward frowned. “Only once or twice, though.” 

“Amazing,” she said, shaking her head. Was Nick at Nite a thing in this universe? If she stayed up late enough, would she be able to watch Full House? Would it keep Charlie awake if she did? “You know, Aunt Becky goes to jail in fifteen years,” Becca said, looking away from Edward and back at the television. “The future is very dramatic.” 

She expected him to ask her to elaborate, but he only continued to frown at her. Finally, he shook his head at her. 

“If you ask me," he said. "I think that Covid is a very strange name for a virus.” 

Becca sighed. He wasn't going to let it go. 

“Covid,” she began, turning the volume up loud enough to hear Ellen’s voice. “Is the name of the disease the virus causes. It’s caused by the coronavirus. We pretty much use both of them interchangeably to talk about it, though.” 

“Interesting. Did you know that coronavirus is actually the name of a family of viruses that cause upper-respiratory infections like—” 

“The common cold,” she interrupted. “Yeah, I did know that. Trust me, everyone is an immunology specialist in the future.” 

Edward stared at her. “I don’t understand.” 

She sighed. 

“I’m kidding. But there’s a lot of opinions on how to deal with the pandemic. And like, everyone thinks that everyone else is wrong. Like everyone is arguing with everyone else. Everyone _suddenly_ knows how to make the world better and the correct way to run things. People who can’t even tell you what mitosis is are out here arguing with doctors about just having to wear a mask. No one listens to anyone, and everybody is a self-identified expert. It doesn’t help that the country is like, ridiculously divided, either. Like, I’ll tell you, I’ve been alive for almost a quarter of a century, and I’ve never seen it this bad. But anyway, the real name of the virus is SARS-CoV-2.” 

Edward blinked once, then twice, then leaned against the couch. He crossed his arms over his chest and appeared lost in thought. 

“SARS-CoV-2,” he repeated. He stood up and began to pace the room, muttering under his breath so quickly and quietly that Becca couldn’t catch a word of what he said. She just watched him walk instead. He turned to face her. “Is the predominant cell receptor of SARS-CoV-2 ACE2?” 

"I'm sorry." Becca stared blankly at him. “But what?” 

“Angiotensin-converting enzyme 2. Is that the predominant cell receptor?” 

Becca laughed. “I’m going to be honest with you, Edward, I am _not_ one of those immunology specialists. You got me the answer key for the biology test—you think I know what the predominant cell receptor for Covid is? I don’t even know what a predominant cell receptor does.” 

He frowned then began pacing again. “They’re the protein molecules along the surface that receive a signal. It’s how viruses bind to the host cell. I’m asking because, and I don’t know how much your immunology specialists, as you call them, have spoken about this, but the SARS virus began in 2002 and disappeared last year. I’m wondering what the similarity between it and your SARS-CoV-2 are.” 

“It sounds familiar,” she admitted. “But I don’t know the specifics. To tell you the truth, Edward, I mostly spent my time avoiding learning about the virus.” 

He seemed to disapprove of her answer; he went back to pacing. 

“Not that I didn’t follow the protocol,” Becca hurried to say. “I wore my mask and didn’t go anywhere but work and I only went to the grocery store once a week and everything. But I preferred to not watch the news. A lot was going on. I had tough days at work; I didn’t want to come home and listen to how awful everything was.” 

Edward glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but did not indicate that he was even listening. 

“Do you know the fatality rate for SARS-CoV-2?” he asked instead. “I just want to know how it compares—SARS has a rate of approximately 9.6%." 

“I have no clue,” she admitted. “Again, as I said before, it’s kind of hard to know the truth when several people are saying very different things. But it’s way less than 10%. I’ve heard multiple numbers, from .01% to 1% to 3%.” 

“Right,” he frowned again. “And who, exactly, are these immunology specialists that you speak of? Is it the news media? Is that who you mean?” 

Becca snorted. “If it was just the media, we wouldn’t have much of a problem. Trust me. When I say everyone, I mean _everyone_.” 

Edward’s frown deepened, but he stopped pacing and sat back down on the couch, not so far away from her this time. 

“If the fatality rate is indeed 3%, that’s quite a lot. Even for modern medicine. Yet the virus is zoonotic…do you know what the intermediate species is?” 

Becca shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe something about a scaly animal in China? Looked a bit like a dinosaur?” 

Edward’s lips pursed in thought. “Was it the pangolin, perhaps?” 

Becca shrugged—she wasn’t certain. At the beginning of the pandemic, she had researched and researched and refreshed and refreshed the numbers. In the second half, she’d taken great strides to move away from the constant uptick in numbers. Unlike most of America, she’d spent election week away from the news—she and Bennet had played a lot of Minecraft and Zelda together. 

“I’m sorry, Edward,” Becca sighed. “Like I said, I didn’t spend my free time learning about the coronavirus.” 

“I thought you were interested in medicine,” Edward frowned. “You’ve made jokes about neurotransmitters and my frontal lobe.” 

“I am,” she answered. “But the pandemic is a lot to take in. It probably wasn’t so bad for you in that respect—but imagine your pandemic with constant media coverage. Everywhere you go. You can’t get away from hearing about it. It’s exhausting.” 

Becca glanced away from him and back at the television. She knew that Edward wanted to know more about the pandemic, that he wanted to bask in the science of it. But it was doing nothing for her central nervous system—she could feel the anxiety building just thinking about it. 

She had to change the subject. 

“Will you tell me about your pandemic now?” she asked. “I don’t know much about it and I'd like to know more.” 

To be fair, most of what she knew about it, which wasn't much, to begin with, was from Edward Cullen himself. Well, book Edward Cullen, that was. 

His face changed instantly, becoming much more guarded. He lost his frown, and his face was smooth. “What would you like to know?” 

She thought about it. Like her and psychology, Edward seemed most at ease when he was talking about the virus in the context of its science. She was no expert, but she would give it a shot. 

Becca smiled. “Well, for starters, what’s its predominant cell receptor, I guess?” 

“Sialic acid receptors,” he answered automatically. His voice, when he spoke, was monotonous. She didn’t mind so much; she was just glad it didn’t sound painful. She didn’t know much about these receptors, but if it made him happy to talk about them, she’d listen all day. 

“It was the deadliest flu in history,” he said quietly. His tone still lacked emotion. “I’ll admit that I don’t remember it all too well—but I remember the overwhelming number of bodies piling up; it was on the front page of the paper every day. The flu was terrible because it killed age groups that normally weren’t affected—young, healthy people. Military barracks were decimated by it. Those who were young had powerful immune systems, which is thought to have sparked an incorrect leukocytic response and compromised systemic and respiratory T Cells.” 

“The worst part,” he cleared his throat. “Was that young people often died in a matter of hours. Their bodies would turn blue, and their lungs would fail—their own bodies suffocating them."

The room had gone still. She lowered the volume on the television, and there was nothing but their breathing to fill the space between them. 

“And you remember that part?” she asked him quietly. 

“Decently well,” he said, matching her tone. His eyes were far away. “You likely know, of course, that when we become…what I am, our human memories are much more difficult to remember. They are hazy and they fade away without great effort. But the sickness from this flu was very quick. I was feverish, dazed, confused.” 

He leaned towards her, as if to grab her hand, but stopped himself. He cleared his throat. 

“I remember the day before, or perhaps even several days before, going to the market to collect sugar and flour for my mother. It was October. Already quite cold in Chicago,” he smiled. “That’s where I was born. My father had already died months before, from the virus, so I was the man of the house. I didn’t like for my mother to go out. The war hadn’t yet ended, and emotions were heightened. It could be quite dangerous.”

Becca had to mentally remind herself that the war he referred to was WWI; frontal lobe development or not--he had lived more than she had. 

Moments passed before Edward appeared to find the will to speak again. Becca was turned facing him, her eyebrows knitted in concern as she stared at him. She’d never seen him struggle for words so badly before. 

“My mother became sick first.” His voice was so low that she struggled to hear. “I’ll never know how she contracted it—if it was my fault. I don’t remember much—I don’t remember the last words she said to me, or even, what she looked like anymore.” He took a deep breath, then began to speak louder “I do, however, know that she loved me dearly, which is perhaps why I feel the most guilt about it.” 

He took another very deep breath, almost as if he was gasping for breath. “You asked me if I remembered dying. I remember the pain, somewhat—my lungs filled with fluid. I would liken it comparable to drowning, though I, of course, have no way of knowing if that's a correct metaphor. Perhaps I would even refer to that pain as excruciating, if not for the pain which I experienced after.” 

Becca shuddered just thinking about it. It must be so strange to refer to the cause of your death as the deadliest flu in history; to hear the words so flippantly tossed around in history classes. Her heart ached for him, and though she’d had plenty of training on how to handle difficult conversations like this one, there was nothing that she felt qualified to say to someone who had lived a century after dying from the deadliest pandemic in human history. 

She tried to think of ways to diffuse the mood, but nothing came to mind. “And you miss her? Your mother?” 

“I did at one point. Now it’s so difficult to remember her, and I’ve lived so long without her, that, to tell you the truth, I can’t imagine life _with_ her. Esme and Carlisle are wonderful parents.” He shrugged. “What about you? Do you miss your mother?” 

Becca flushed. Was it awful of her to say no when he had experienced such trauma and her mother, in another world, was alive and perfectly healthy? 

Edward was watching her face carefully. “I know you said before that you didn’t miss her—that you two clashed a lot. I was just wondering if that had changed.” 

She looked down at her lap. “No, not really.”

Edward was silent. Was it insensitive of her to feel this way? After all, he had Esme now, and Becca had…Renee? She would take Renee over her birth mother, but more so because Renee didn’t have opinions on things that she did wrong. Renee didn't think she was the biggest fuck-up south of the Hudson River. Renee just seemed to love Bella Swan, even if she, admittedly, didn’t do the greatest job at parenting her. 

Becca didn't want to talk about herself. “What’s the official name of the virus? Besides the Spanish Flu, I mean.” 

“Influenza A virus subtype H1N1,” he answered immediately. He was like her own personal Wikipedia engine—why had Bella Swan not used him more for this? “It may sound familiar. It still exists. There was an outbreak in the 50s and the 70s, in East Asia and Russia, respectively.” 

Becca’s eyebrows furrowed. Where had she heard that before? Certainly not concerning the Spanish Flu—she’d never studied it much. 

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed once she realized. Her mouth dropped open. “I had that!” 

Edward looked at her as if she had lost her mind. 

“The Swine Flu,” she explained. “In 2009. I was in ninth grade. My best friend threw up on me in the bathroom accidentally, then I got it. It was awful. I’ve never felt that bad before. They tried to vaccinate us in schools, but I got sick before they did.” 

She shuddered just thinking about it. Her parents had forced her to stay in a guest room at her aunt’s house in Patterson for nine days straight, not able to stay at home because Bennet was just a baby and infants were at-risk groups for developing complications from the flu. Becca specifically remembered a terrible incident with a pizza Lunchable, and then she’d lived off of grape popsicles for the rest of her time in bed. To date, she still couldn’t taste anything grape flavored without wanting to throw up. She remembered watching Nickelodeon cartoons all day, which she pretended to loathe because she was fourteen, but which she secretly enjoyed. 

And to now know that Edward Cullen, _the_ Edward Cullen, had died from a version of the swine flu that was much worse than hers, made her veins feel like they were popping in two.

“You mean to tell me, Becca,” Edward said flatly when she didn’t continue. “That there are, not one, but _two_ pandemics in the mere span of a decade?” 

“More or less,” she shrugged. “I mean, the Swine Flu _was_ a big deal at the time, but nowhere near as big as the Spanish Flu, and definitely not as big as Covid. Obama was president in 2009, which I guess was probably a part of it. But obviously, we’ve also made a lot of medical advancements in the past century.” 

“Barack Obama? As in the Illinois Senator who recently took office?” Edward widened his eyes. “Barack Obama is the next President of the United States? As a one-term senator?” 

“That was quick,” she told him. “But yeah. I hate to break it to you, but the United States has a lot of worst things coming than someone running for President after just one term in the Senate.” 

“President Barack Obama. Fascinating.” He shook his head in amazement. Then he wrinkled his nose. “But I do have to say, Becca, this future you speak of seems a bit…tough.” 

She tried to smile at him. It was sad, terribly depressing, how elated it made her feel that he was able to, in one way or another, be empathetic to the world she came from. 

“You don’t even know the half of it. The two pandemics are just icing on the cake. To be honest, I don’t even know how your family is going to survive. Technology is a lot more pervasive. You guys won’t be able to exist secretly anymore.” 

She glanced away from him, back at the TV. Ellen was still on, but John Stamos was gone. She was now interviewing a man that Becca didn’t recognize. 

“While I want to emphasize that I appreciate your concern for my family,” Edward said slowly. She noticed that he was choosing his words carefully. “I would much rather that you tell me how you know about us in the first place. Or that, at the very least, you clarify your assumption that advancements in technology will make our existence difficult.” 

She paled and looked down at her laps, picking at her cuticles. Becca was pretty certain this was going to be the point when he decided that she was once and for all delusional. There was the unfortunate fact that she couldn’t remember specific details of the plot—she hadn’t read the books in years. But combined with the reality of it all, she didn’t think Edward was predisposed to taking this admission calmly. 

“You promised,” he reminded her. 

“I know I did,” she moaned. “I just wish very much that…I hadn’t promised you that.” 

“Come on,” he encouraged. He gestured between the two of them. “This situation is already bizarre. Nothing you say will change that.” 

“Are you sure about that?” she muttered, still picking at her cuticles. 

“Becca,” he warned. “If you keep tearing at your cuticles, your nails are going to bleed, and that isn’t exactly an optimal situation right now.” 

His hand was on hers then, stilling her fingers. She froze; it was the first time they’d had direct contact—well if you didn’t count the van, which Becca didn’t. His hand was cold, but not like ice, as it had been described in the books. It felt more like she was taking a bottle of juice out of the fridge. Not freezing, not warm, but tolerable. 

He brought their hands to rest in between them on the cushion. His was a lot larger than hers—his fingers narrow and long. His hand formed a basket around hers, and she was surprised by how comfortable the motion felt. Her heart was still pounding, though she wasn’t sure if it was this action or the one that she was about to make that had caused it.

But she liked holding hands with him. 

It felt right. 

“Please don’t get mad at me,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to think I conjured up all of this in my head. It’s real, and I promise you that it’s as weird for me as it is for you.” 

Edward looked bewildered. “I doubt very much that anything you say will make me angry with you, Becca.” 

Well, not with _her_ , anyway. That wasn’t exactly the problem. She made a face and side-eyed the carpet. 

“There’s this…book,” she said slowly. 

He waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. He rubbed his thumb in circles around her hand, encouraging her. 

“Well, there’s more than one,” she corrected. “There’s four, or five, or maybe even six, eventually. But there are four main ones. A saga, of sorts. And these books got turned into films. And they became a pop culture phenomenon.” 

His voice was still calm. “And these books are about my kind?” 

“Yes,” she frowned. “But more specifically, they’re about you.” 

“Me.” 

“Yes.” 

Edward now looked like he was going through great efforts to avoid reacting. “What…about me, exactly?” 

She let go of his hand and crossed her arms. She leaned her head against the back of the couch and groaned. “You know, Edward, I don’t think we need to talk about this after all. It’s not like you actually need to know.” 

“Yes,” he insisted, crossing his arms against his chest. “I do.” 

Becca shook her head. “I don’t think me telling you all of this is going to benefit either of us.” 

Edward looked like he wanted to say something. Becca didn’t want to allow him to persuade her anymore, so she turned her head, childishly away from him. Because she was looking away, or because he moved so quickly, she didn’t notice that he’d left the couch until he was right in front of her again, holding a Snickers bar out to her. 

“What are you doing?” she frowned. “What is this?” 

“The cashier told me it was her favorite.” He shrugged. “I apologize if it isn’t yours. I don’t know much about chocolate. Much of it was manufactured after my death.” 

Becca continued to frown but took the candy from him anyway. Edward sat back down beside her, so close that their arms were almost touching. She looked down at the candy, turning it over and over in her hands, the sound of the wrinkling wrapper filling the room. 

“Why did you get me this, Edward?” 

“I thought that it would help you feel better.” 

Her chest felt so full. When had a human boy ever willingly and without being asked, either by her or of societal constructions on Valentine’s Day, bought her chocolate?

And while a Snickers bar would have never been her first choice for candy, after this incident, she would probably end up buying stock in Mars Incorporated. 

She looked over at him. "What if I was allergic to peanuts?” 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Are you?” 

“No,” she smiled. “But you know, you’re not supposed to have a lot of sugar when you’re sick. It’s not healthy for your body.” 

There was a quiet pause. She stopped fiddling with the wrapper.

“Believe it or not, Becca, it isn’t the health of your body that I’m concerned about,” Edward said. 

Her eyes stung. For years she’d been trying to make other people’s lives better, helping to relieve them of their pain. Trying to improve the world, so that she was worth something. Trying to find a purpose for her existence; a place she belonged. 

Becca rubbed at her eyes with the index finger of each hand. 

Edward reached over and took her left hand, wrapping it in his. It felt even more natural now. Not necessarily romantic, but definitely intimate. Comfortable. He rubbed his thumb over her hand again. 

“I don’t know what this is, exactly. This situation that we have both found ourselves in. I don’t understand the mechanics or the science of it. As you say, it’s equally weird for both of us. But I want you to know, Becca,” he paused, reaching over with his free hand to tilt her chin up so that she met his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me about these books and movies and this pop culture phenomenon for as long as you’d like. I might be surprised, shocked, or even angry, but none of that will be with _you_.” 

“But,” he continued. She’d looked away again, so he tilted her face upward once again. “And please do not take this the wrong way, but you aren’t the most credible judge for deciding what will be a benefit for the two of us. I’m fairly certain that you shouldn’t be deciding for yourself, at the very least.” 

“Why not?” she demanded. “What’s wrong with knowing what’s best for me?” 

“Nothing,” he said. “And I want to emphasize that I do think that you believe that you know what’s best for you. I truly do. But I also think that believing what’s best for yourself and knowing what’s best for yourself are two very different things.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense, Edward.” 

“Look, Becca,” he sighed. “Are doctors allowed to prescribe medication for themselves?” 

“No.” 

“Should a surgeon take out their own appendix?” 

“Of course not!” 

“Then you shouldn’t treat yourself as a client. With all due respect, keeping all of this bizarre knowledge marinating in your mind isn’t beneficial. Not for me, and certainly not for you.” 

Becca knew he was right. It was impossible to treat yourself because you inherently had clouded judgment. But she had already thought this through—it wasn’t like she could seek out a therapist here in this reality and tell them that she was in this universe because she was dead in another. For one, mental health was not developed and still deeply stigmatized. And secondly, if someone had told her anything similar, if one of her teenage clients had relayed that to her during an afternoon session, Becca would have immediately called for a psych eval. 

"Eat the candy," he encouraged, his tone lighter. "It increases your dopamine levels." 

Becca glared at him instead of agreeing. She ripped open the Snickers bar and bit into it. “Thank you. For the candy.” 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “Now—these books. What are they about?” 

“Vampires. Werewolves. Bella Swan,” she gestured at herself. She swallowed. “It’s been a while. They came out when I was in middle school.”

“Werewolves,” he said flatly. 

Becca took another bite of the candy then swallowed. 

“Yeah. The Native American reservation near here—I don’t remember the name. That’s where the werewolves come from. Which is… kind of racist, actually. A lot of cultural appropriation. Anyway, you leave in the second book, and Bella Swan becomes catatonically depressed, then becomes best friends with a werewolf.” 

Edward looked like he was about to stroke out. 

“Don’t worry,” she hurried on. It was much easier to talk about the story than she’d thought it would be now that she had begun to do so. “You come back eventually. I remember the second book being very boring if that’s any consolation. The movie too—but I always found the movies a bit weird.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” 

She frowned and took another bite of the candy. “I told you that you wouldn’t.” 

“You didn’t actually,” he reprimanded. “Now, why is all of this happening? Why did I…leave, I guess?” 

“Because Bella Swan got a paper cut opening a present on her birthday,” Becca snorted. “How original. And then your brother, Jasper, lunges at her. Then _you_ get all depressed and think you’re dangerous and all of that and leave. But, I’ll go ahead and say it, the whole Jasper trying to eat Bella never made much sense to me. You go to high school. Surely people bleed there?” 

Edward did not speak for a very long time. Long enough for her to finish the candy, ball up the wrapper, throw it away, then return to the room. 

“Can you please start at the beginning?” Edward requested as she took her seat beside him. “Why is all of this happening? What’s the...premise, I guess?” 

Becca took a deep breath. She pulled her legs back up on the couch to sit cross-legged. 

“The main gist is that Bella Swan moves to Forks, you can’t read her mind, on top of the blood lust, so you’re fascinated by her. It turns into this very classic chase scenario, which isn’t necessary, to be honest, because Bella Swan is _very_ Team Edward. The entire time. That’s the part that becomes the cultural phenomenon by the way—people are either Team Jacob or Team Edward. Well, I don’t mean to make that so binary. People are also Team Alice, Team Rosalie, Team Angela, etc.” 

“The blood lust?” 

“That’s all you got from that?” She laughed. “Yeah. The blood lust. There’s this whole point about how you can’t decide whether you’re more tempted by Bella’s blood or her body.” 

Edward looked as though, if it was possible, he was going to throw up. 

“As far as I can tell,” Becca continued. “Much of the canon events are happening to me. Most of the time, I don’t remember the plot well enough to know until after these events happen. But the Port Angeles scene was real. Getting hit by the van was real. Though my shunt complicated things in that one. But Bella never went shopping in Seattle, and she could drive the truck. So, some stuff is different.” 

“So, this book,” he wondered. “You used to read it a lot?” 

“When I was like thirteen,” she shrugged. “I used to read it over and over again. It was a tough time for me. It was during the housing crisis, er I guess you don't know about that yet. In 2008, there's this economic repression and a huge housing crisis in America. My family lost our house. My baby brother was about to be born. Reading those books was kind of like a refuge, I guess.” 

Edward looked as if he wanted to say several things. Becca couldn’t quite tell if he was remaining this calm for her benefit or if this was Edward’s natural way of reacting. His body was very still. 

He abruptly stood up. Becca looked up at him in surprise. Of all the possible reactions, she hadn't foreseen this as one of them. 

“I have several more questions,” he began finally. “And I do mean _several._ But unfortunately, Charlie just turned off the highway. I have to go before he sees my car in the driveway.” 

“You don’t have to leave,” Becca got up to follow him. He’d moved so fast that he’d already opened the front door and had one foot out. “I could just tell him that you came to drop off my work from school.” 

“No,” Edward insisted. “I think it’s better this way. But I’ll come back.” 

“But how am I supposed to tell you when?” 

“I’ll come back,” he assured her. “He’s around the corner—I’m sorry, but I have to go.” 

He was already in the car and had started the engine before she could even blink. Edward waved at her as he backed out of the car, not turning to look away from her as he did so, then seconds later, disappeared in the opposite direction Charlie was coming from. Moments later, Becca heard Charlie’s cruiser turn onto the gravel and rushed to close the door. She took the stairs two at a time, gasping for breath once she reached her room. 

Slamming the door, she curled up into her body, her mind whirring a hundred miles an hour. 

If this was this universe’s way of making the events of New Moon come true, it was then going to be her turn to go cliff diving. 

And not for fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, HOLY HECK, thank you guys so much for almost 300 kudos on this!!! I am seriously so shook every time I go to update and see these stats! I seriously appreciate every single one of you for taking the time to read it ❤️ 
> 
> Secondly, I cried during the writing this chapter LOL. I never have before, and granted it was 3am and I knew damn well I had to wake up at 8am, but man, sometimes Edward just gets me. Like book Edward is so neurotic without justifiable cause??? You feel me?? I spent an hour searching all the books (including MS!) and book Edward never really talks about why he's so angsty besides Bella ofc. I mean I know vampires are angsty by nature but still...in any case, I tried to find canon info on his date of death and stuff but couldn't, so I took full creative liberty. Apologies if it deviates from anything that you know to be true! 
> 
> The next chapter is pretty much a continuation of this one, so I will try to update by Friday or Saturday! 
> 
> Thank you all again! I hope you are safe, sane, and happy! ❤️😊


	15. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer than usual, hope you don't mind :)

Her heart was pounding as she tried to figure out what just happened. Edward’s reaction hadn’t been adverse, exactly—in fact, it had been the very opposite. Yet he was naturally skilled at composure, so Becca decided that just the fact that he hadn’t had an outburst didn’t mean anything about what he thought.

She heard Charlie close the front door. She also heard the sound of his work belt slamming against the wall, his boots against the floor. So, she wasn’t the least bit surprised when she heard his boots stomp up the stairs—though she cringed that he was wearing his shoes on the stairs—and knocked on her door.

“Bella? You in there?”

“Yeah,” she answered, wondering where else he thought she would be. “You can come in.”

The doorknob clicked and turned. Charlie looked much more tired than usual, and his arms were filled with textbooks.

“You look better,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Becca agreed. Her heart felt normal again. “What’s that?”

“I got Mark to go by Peninsula and pick up your schoolbooks for Monday,” he said, stepping inside. He yawned, then set them on the edge of her bed.

Becca’s chest inflated. As much as she loved her real dad, he would have never willingly bought textbooks for her—even when she was a minor. If anything, getting to know Charlie Swan in this reality seemed like the real treat. He was such a genuine soul.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she mumbled.

“You were the one complaining about not having money,” Charlie grumbled, turning away so she couldn’t see his face.

Becca hadn’t complained to him but maybe once, and even then, she’d asked him to help her find a job, but she only smiled at him. She found it peculiar how happy the same thick, heavy, overpriced books that used to make her want to drop out of school made her. At least she didn’t need a multi-hundred-dollar Internet access code for any of these classes.

She looked through them; music appreciation was the lightest; it was a softcover. Behind it was were two poetry books: the Oxford Book of American Poetry and the Norton Anthology. Both of which, on the back, had price tags of fifty dollars.

Becca had to stop herself from snorting—inflation was something else.

But wait…she was missing one of them.

“The sustainable agriculture book was $400, so Mark made the correct decision and didn’t pick that one up,” Charlie said when she glanced up at him. “Bells, I’m going to make an executive decision as your father here and say that you should drop the class.”

“But I _want_ to take sustainable agriculture,” Becca said. “It’s the one I’m the most excited about.”

Charlie sat on the edge of her bed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to take classes you’re interested in. But if I’m paying for the fee for you to enroll in these classes, I want them to benefit you somehow.”

She frowned. “What do you have against farmers?”

“Nothing,” he said, almost as if her assertion offended him. “I just mean that, well, you’re not one.”

Becca huffed. “There aren’t any other classes I’m interested in.”

Charlie laughed and patted her knee. “I’m sure that’s not true, kid. I’m going to order Chinese. Do you want anything?”

He stood and stretched.

“Szechuan chicken, please.”

Charlie frowned. “That’s spicy.”

“It’s not that spicy. And you don’t have to eat it.”

Becca had to refrain from rolling her eyes. If he thought that Chinese food in the middle of nowhere Washington was spicy, he had another thing coming.

“Alrighty then,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Really, if Charlie was being honest with himself, if they stopped spending so much on takeout, they could probably afford the sustainable agriculture textbook.

Becca was indeed feeling much better, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. It might have been because she’d finally told Edward at least some of the truth and he hadn’t gotten angry--at least not from what she could tell—but she was trying not to think about what she’d said.

She planned to take cold medicine as soon as night fell to knock herself out cold. As she passed by the window in her bedroom to go downstairs, she couldn’t help but peek out, hoping she’d see Edward lurking around somewhere. It was approaching dusk, the sun hidden behind the trees but not yet beyond the horizon. One of their neighbors she didn’t know the name of, a skinny, bald white man who managed the grocery store, was taking out his trash. On the other side, closest to the forest, there were a few blooming bushes, some yellow, some pink, but mostly white.

They were also exactly where she’d been the night before, and she felt she’d made the right call; it was definitely allergies.

Pursing her lips, she wondered if she had Bella Swan’s immune system or her own. The immune system was regulated in various places of the body—not just the brain—so either way was probable. But there wasn’t a way to test her allergies out, really. The only thing Becca was allergic to was shellfish, and she was _very_ allergic to shellfish. Charlie didn’t seem like a deep-sea fisherman, but he was so passionate about fishing that she was certain if she asked, he’d find a way to get her some shrimp.

But with no epi-pen in sight and Edward’s most recent assertion that he thought she could die in this world, she wasn’t sure she wanted to test the waters.

Which was a good sign, if you looked at it the right way. The fact that she was no longer attempting to test the waters.

Charlie was sitting in his blue recliner in the living room. An episode of House, a show she recognized, was starting. The familiar theme song was playing, which had been a backdrop of her child. Often, she would hear it while dinner was cooking. Becca’s mother had been an avid Hugh Laurie fan.

“Did you know the hospital in the intro to House was shot in New Jersey? It’s from the back of a building on the Princeton University campus, about fifteen minutes from Trenton.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Charlie frowned and turned the volume down. He faced her fully. “How do you?”

“My biology teacher mentioned it,” she lied, sitting down on the side of the couch where Edward had been and wrapping herself in the afghan again.

One Saturday when she was thirteen and a half, Becca’s mother had driven them down to Princeton. It was a beautiful, quintessential place, but what Becca loved most was the handmade ice cream from a little shop on the corner—and watching all of the cute college boys walk past, of course. Their hands full of coffee cups and books, sometimes holding hands with another girl or boy.

Her family had taken the trip so that they could take a family photo shoot a few days after Bennet’s first birthday. Becca’s father tried to have their photo taken in front of one of the pretty buildings like the chapel or one of the lecture halls, but Becca’s mother forced them to have it on the lawn where the overview of House had been shot. Becca was embarrassed as they waited for the photographer to take the photo—students were lounging on the grass, literally every single one of them attractive. One day she hoped she would be just like them, instead of an awkward teenager who still had purple-colored braces and who still smelt kind of funky no matter how often she showered or how often she sprayed herself with her signature sweet pea body spray.

But Charlie didn’t take her bait.

“ _Bob_ Banner watches House?” he asked incredulously. “He told you this in class?”

Becca wanted to knock herself upside the head for that slip. She’d forgotten how small this town was. Her mother had worked at her own high school, and she’d never known most of Becca’s teachers well enough to be surprised to find out they watched a TV show.

“Yeah,” she shrugged again. “Just to say how inaccurate it is.”

“Hmph,” Charlie said, still frowning. After a moment he turned back to the television.

They both sat with their eyes on the screen. It was an episode she’d seen plenty of times before. A classic where Dr. House thinks there’s an epidemic. She pulled her legs up on the couch and wrapped her arms around them, thinking back to being a kid again.

What an odd thing to be nostalgic for a world that didn’t even exist yet.

The phone rang and Becca got up to answer it; as she was doing so, the doorbell also rang—their food was here. Charlie got up to pay for it, while Becca put the receiver up to her ear.

“Bella?” Jessica asked anxiously.

“Jess!” She smiled to herself. Becca had missed the girl, even if she hadn’t realized it. “How are you?”

“You _have_ to stop ditching me at school,” Jessica whined. “It’s so boring without you! You’re so good at reading people.”

It had only taken her multiple psychology courses and over 500 clinical counseling hours to get to that point.

Becca laughed. “You’ve been at school for most of your life without me.”

“Exactly,” Jessica said. “That’s why it’s worse now. When you know how good something can be, it makes it extremely hard to be without it.”

If Edward Cullen buying her candy because he thought it would make her feel better hadn’t melted her heart, and if Charlie buying her textbooks just because hadn’t done it either, then Jessica’s remark definitely did.

“That’s nice of you to say, Jess.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, did you skip school with Edward? He wasn’t there either.”

Becca frowned. “No.”

“Mhm!”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, you don’t _sound_ sick, Bella.”

Becca rolled her eyes.

“I mean, it’s fine, if Edward Cullen was my boyfriend, I’d skip school too. I mean, it’s practically illegal not to.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“He is too,” Jessica insisted.

“He is not!”

Jessica scoffed in disgust, then Becca heard a click.

“Jess?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear. Unbelievable. Becca stared down at the phone, dumbfounded. She shook her head, took a deep breath to calm herself, then dialed Jessica’s number back.

Jessica answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Did you seriously hang up on me?”

“Well, you weren’t telling me the truth!” Jessica laughed. “What was I supposed to do, listen to you lie?”

In another life, in another world perhaps, Becca thought that Jessica would have made an excellent detective. She had an uncanny ability to see through things, even if her instinct as to what that thing meant was wrong.

“I didn’t even know Edward wasn’t at school today,” Becca said.

“Yeah,” Jessica sounded bummed. “Apparently he and his entire family went camping in the mountains for the weekend. I wish my family did stuff like that. All we do is stay here and go to the Lodge for special occasions.”

“Bella?” Charlie called from the kitchen. “Dinner.”

Becca glanced over her shoulder then relayed the message to Jessica.

Jessica groaned. “But I didn’t tell you about what Mike did today. That’s why I called!”

“So, you didn’t call me to accuse me of skipping school with Edward?” Becca teased. “What did Mike do?”

“He brought me breakfast,” Jessica gushed. “And he’s taking me to dinner in Port Angeles before the dance.”

“Aw, that’s great!”

“Bella,” Charlie called more sternly now from the table.

“Sorry, I really do have to go, though,” Becca apologized. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“You’re not coming to school tomorrow either?” Jessica demanded.

“I mean, not if I have…”

Jessica groaned and hung up the phone before Becca could say anything else. Becca rolled her eyes again as she put the phone back down. They were going to have to work on Jessica’s communication.

She crossed the floor to where Charlie was sitting, their food already laid out on the table, and sat down across from him. The mahogany table was covered in various dishes—Charlie hadn’t been able to decide what he wanted most, it seemed. From three different types of chicken to pork and shrimp fried rice, as well as potstickers in the center of the table, Charlie had ordered half of the menu.

Becca began to eat her own, pushing it around with her fork.

They ate in quiet for a while. Becca sniffled occasionally—her chicken wasn’t spicy at all; she was just still congested, and she didn’t want to take any medicine until she was ready for bed. Both of them were halfway through their plates before Charlie broke the silence.

“Who’s not your boyfriend?” Charlie asked gruffly.

Becca sat her fork down. “What?”

“On the phone. You said someone wasn’t your boyfriend. Who isn’t?”

She swallowed. “Jessica thinks that Edward is my boyfriend.”

“Cullen?” Charlie’s eyes bulged. “I thought you were just good friends.”

“We are.”

“Then why did Jessica—”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, shrugging. “Sometimes people say things and we don’t know why they do.”

Charlie made a face but went back to eating. Becca was satisfied, so she pushed her plate away from her and propped her head up on the table with her hand. Now that the medicine was wearing off, her head had begun to ache again.

“Do you think it’s possible for me to miss school tomorrow?” Becca asked quietly.

“Possible? Sure.” He snorted. “Should you? No.”

“I just don’t feel great,” she admitted. “I think it’s allergies. I was around the flowers outside yesterday, and they made me feel awful.”

Charlie frowned. “You’ve never had problems with your allergies before.”

Becca’s face fell. This was the second time in an hour she’d said something wrong that Charlie had noticed. She decided to settle this one with something she perceived to be true.

“Well,” she said. “I don’t spend a lot of time here in the spring, usually.”

“That’s true,” Charlie answered, but he was still frowning. Finally, after finishing the rest of his plate, he leaned back in his chair and covered his belly with his hands. “I don’t care if you miss school tomorrow, but Monday you’re going. I don’t care if you have a fever of 106—you’re going.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

He raised his eyebrows to finish his point. As she stared at him, she observed how exhausted he looked. His eyes were bloodshot, his eyelids drooping. There were more wrinkles than usual, and even leaning back, he looked like he could fall asleep at any moment.

And Becca knew that line of life quite well. Public service, of any type, was never easy.

“Are you alright?” she asked him. “Are you feeling sick?”

Charlie bit his lip, looking as if he was debating answering her question. He went through great effort to close his takeout box and cross his arms before he spoke. Bluntly, he said, “Work has been tough.”

Becca’s forehead creased. “Why?”

His face tightened. “I don’t want to worry you, Bells.”

“It’s my job to worry, Dad.”

“It’s not, actually,” he frowned. “It’s my job to worry about you.” 

But Becca couldn’t help herself. She adored Charlie. His life, from what she knew, hadn’t been tragic, but it hadn’t been filled with, grace, either. He had worked for everything he had, and everything he didn’t have, too. He was quiet but interesting. That rare breed of people who remained quiet if they didn’t have anything to add to the conversation.

“What happened at work today?” Becca pressed.

Charlie sighed. “We found a few more bodies. Scattered around. Their bodies were found in the same manner as the one in Carlsborg. Only this time, they were found in three different locations.”

“A few more?” Becca questioned

Charlie’s face grew incredibly solemn. He nodded, probably hoping this would pacify her.

But it didn’t. She needed a quantity.

“How many did you find?” she whispered.

Charlie looked away from her, staring at the curtains in front of the window, now drawn because it was dark. It took a moment for him to speak, but when he did, his voice was heavy. “We found seven.”

“ _Seven?_ ” she choked out.

Charlie didn’t answer; he just continued to stare at the pattern on the curtains.

Her entire being felt like it might explode. She couldn’t have known any of those people—she only knew a handful of people in Forks, after all. But still, she imagined that each of those people had siblings, parents, perhaps children. Children who could now be orphans. This reality might not even be a real one; she had no clue how anything quantified or measured up. But she knew one thing for certain.

If it felt real to the people here, then that alone made the pain real.

And Charlie may have known some of them.

“In any case, Bella,” Charlie continued. When he met her eyes, he was teary. He likely _did_ know some of them. “I’d prefer to wait on getting you a car. We’ll still go sell the truck to Billy, and we can go look at cars if you want, but I don’t want you driving right now. There haven’t been any of these attacks in Forks, but we found two of the bodies in Bogachiel. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”

Bogachiel was a state park near them. It was only about ten minutes away—Jessica had told her how the environmental science class did an overnight camping trip. Becca liked hiking and had been contemplating making her way out there eventually.

But there was something else Charlie wasn’t saying. Some sort of warning he was giving her with his deep, brown eyes. Becca couldn’t understand what it was. And while she desperately did want a car, the ability to take herself places, and most importantly, the ability to drive around aimlessly, she could see that Charlie’s fear was real.

She shivered at the realization of how close these bodies were. All of a sudden Edward’s warning that she might be able to die felt more realistic. Not that she was worried, per se. She still thought she couldn’t die. Becca was, after all, ninety percent sure that this was the afterlife.

And you couldn’t die again once you were dead.

Becca cleared her throat. “I don’t need the car. I have some friends taking classes at Peninsula. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind driving me.”

Charlie was staring at the window lost in thought. He spoke without looking in her direction. “I brought some pepper spray home with me. I want you to take some with you everywhere you go.”

Becca nodded; she’d wanted pepper spray since Port Angeles.

Charlie looked over at her and frowned. “I’m serious, Bella. I don’t…we don’t," he corrected. "We don't think this is an animal anymore.”

Becca’s face went blank. She hadn’t thought that it was an animal attack at all, but registering it now made her feel more vulnerable. Seven people dead because of something out there.

“Alright,” he sighed and stood up. “There’s a game on.”

“I’ll put everything away,” she offered. He’d had a rough day. She could afford to be generous, despite how weird she was beginning to feel.

She had to call Angela, and most of all, she had to call Edward. But before she could call Edward, she had to make sure Charlie not only wasn’t in the room but also wasn’t eavesdropping.

But thankfully, Charlie didn’t need much prodding. He seemed to want to end the conversation just as much as she did. Once she offered, he was already walking towards the living room. A few moments later, she heard him turn the volume up. He was watching a basketball game.

Becca took her time putting away the leftovers and washing up the dishes. None of this made any sense. Why someone, vampire, human, maybe even a wizard, would be stalking the town and murdering innocent humans. It was a good thing that Charlie wanted to wait on the car—otherwise, Becca might be inclined to get involved herself.

She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but in the back of her mind, she had a new thought: what if this had to do with her? The universe was naturally chaotic, but for every action, there was an equal but opposite reaction. Her being transported into a different world would definitely upset that balance.

Unless the balance was already upset because she’d just told Edward the truth.

She had to figure out what to say to him. He hadn’t given her any indication of what he thought, and she hadn’t been able to get any sort of a read on him. What she wanted to do was ask him to come over, but she didn’t want Charlie to get any ideas any more than she wanted Jessica to. Though she had entertained the idea of the events of New Moon falling into place, she knew that this universe wouldn’t allow it just yet. Edward wouldn’t be let off the hook that easily.

Or, at least, she hoped that was the case.

She took her time wiping down the table, then wrung the rag out in the sink.

Becca would call Angela first. She missed the convenience of just being able to text someone. She still needed to buy herself a cellphone. Maybe she would be able to convince Charlie to do it now that these unfortunate events were taking place; even texting from a Nokia would be preferable to having to call someone every time she just needed to tell them something.

“Hello?” Angela answered on the third ring. “Bella?”

Becca felt bad for not calling her sooner. Angela was the type to worry—she’d probably been thinking about her all day.

“Hi, Ang, sorry I didn’t call you earlier. I didn’t feel well all day. But I’m calling now to let you know that I won’t be going to school tomorrow either.”

Angela was quiet for a moment. “Do you need anything? I can drop off your schoolwork tomorrow if you’d like. Oh, I’m so sorry that you’re sick, Bella. You’ve only been here a few weeks, and this is the third time you’ve missed school!”

Becca had to admit that she was way less sorry about it than Angela probably was. There were certainly admirable aspects of this world, but some of it was too much to deal with. The idea of going to school tomorrow made her feel trapped. The idea of a bell dictating where she was meant to be and what she was meant to be doing was awful, and even psychologically, no one did well sitting for that many hours of the day doing worksheets and taking notes.

And especially not with the newly added weight that her presence might be causing the imbalance here. Or the weight of seven dead bodies being found within minutes of Forks.

After assuring Angela three more times that she didn’t need anything and that she was doing fine, despite the circumstances, she was able to hang up the phone. Becca felt guilty for having blown her off so many times when all the girl wanted was to be good friends with her. She was going to have to spend time with her next week. Maybe she could invite both Jessica and Angela over to have a sleepover. Her real birthday _was_ coming up, after all. No one had to know what she was actually celebrating.

“Oh, no! Come on, now!” Charlie yelled at the TV, even louder than the volume, which startled her.

Becca took a deep breath to calm herself.

And she knew deep down that Edward wouldn’t have skipped town.

At least not yet.

And definitely not after she told him about the bodies.

She dialed the number that had already somehow memorized

Her heart felt like it was beating a hundred miles an hour as she waited for someone to answer. It rang twice, then someone picked up. No one said anything, so Becca guessed it was someone she hadn’t spoken directly to just yet.

“Uh, hi,” she greeted. “Is um, is Edward there?”

“Why? Is this _Bella Swan?_ ” Rosalie replied.

Becca closed her eyes. Rosalie could have been anything in the world that she wanted. She could be everything she wanted—a model, actress, singer, astrophysicist. Why was she so insistent on this behavior?

“No,” Becca answered. She glanced around the corner and double-checked to make sure Charlie wasn’t paying attention. “It’s Becca Fitzgerald, actually.”

Rosalie went quiet. Becca could hear her breathing.

“But I go by Bella Swan, I guess,” she continued. Anxiously, she started drumming the fingers of her right hand against the table. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask—are you from New York?”

“Did _Edward_ tell you that?”

“No,” Becca smiled. “You have an accent. Upstate, definitely. Buffalo maybe?”

Rosalie was quiet for several seconds. “Rochester.”

“Ah. Rochester is beautiful. I’ve only been once, but all of the upstate is so different. You know, the West Coast is tough to get used to. I mean, I’m from Jersey, not New York, but I still miss the East Coast. It’s so different out here.”

What she would give for a bagel. Or a pork roll. Or real pizza.

“I haven’t been in a while,” Rosalie admitted.

Becca smiled. “Me either. I sure do miss it though. Not that the Pacific Northwest isn’t beautiful. It is of course, but I just miss home.”

“Home,” Rosalie echoed. Her voice was lighter now, almost as if she was interested in listening to what Becca had to say. “That sounds nice.”

It did sound nice. Though Becca wasn’t quite sure what that term meant to her anymore. She didn’t know whether home was Jersey or home was here with Charlie; she felt like she was in an airport terminal, almost. Neither here nor there. Timeless.

“Here’s Edward,” Rosalie said. “Nice talking to you…Becca.”

Becca bit her lip and smiled. It would be much easier to talk to Rosalie next time. Not to mention that every time she heard her real name from someone new, she felt like a tiny piece of her life had been stitched back together.

“Becca?” Edward asked a second later. His voice was anxious.

“Hi,” she greeted. Just by hearing his voice, she felt relieved—at least he wasn’t avoiding speaking to her. “I was just wondering if you wanted to come over.”

He sounded like he was frowning. “Isn’t Charlie there?”

“Yes,” Becca frowned, too. “Why?”

“It’s late. I doubt he’d want you to have male company at this hour.”

Male company? Was he trying to avoid her? _Were_ the events of New Moon about to be set in motion? Had all that she told him caused him to no longer want to associate with her?

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she agreed. “Couldn’t you like, I don’t know, sneak through my window or something?”

She was aware of how desperate she sounded, which was humiliating. For all the trouble he was worth, she had developed an attachment to him. She knew that it wasn’t a good thing, but even if she looked at it logically, it would have been almost impossible for her not to. He was the only one in the entire reality who knew her truth. Well, if you didn’t count Alice.

It was almost like her own personal rendition of a backward Stockholm Syndrome.

Perhaps most importantly, she _would_ feel a lot safer with him there. Whether or not she agreed with him that she could die and be truly dead, the talk of Charlie's day was terribly frightening, and she didn't want to be alone.

But Edward surprised her by laughing. “No, I cannot sneak in your window.”

“Why not?” she demanded. Embarrassment flooded through her, her face flushing. She was being rejected. “Are you saying you can’t climb?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying,” he laughed again. “It’s just that, well, it isn’t proper for me to climb into your room while it’s dark out. Or anytime, really.”

“Proper,” Becca repeated flatly.

“Look, Becca, you’ve mentioned how much the world has changed in the next two decades. It’s changed quite a bit in the past century, believe it or not. But if I lose my values, if I let go of my morals, then I lose my sense of self.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “If you put it that way, it’s not _proper_ for you to be standing guard outside my house at two in the morning. Or spending the entire day ditching school with me.”

She could tell he was frowning again. “Fair enough.”

“Look, Edward,” she sighed. “You forced me to tell you about all of this stuff I know. I tell you, then you freak out. I told you this would happen.”

“First of all, I did not force you into telling me anything, and I am most certainly not freaking out, Becca. You’re being absurd.”

She wished she could see his face to know whether he was telling the truth. Not that she’d be able to tell. He was abnormally good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. “Then why did you leave?”

“Because your father was coming home from work.”

“So, you’re not leaving Forks?”

He laughed again. “Of course not.”

“Nothing that I said bothered you?”

“It does bother me. But I made a promise to you earlier, and I don’t break my promises, at least not when I can help it. I’m not angry with you, and I understand this is quite a lot weirder for you than it is for me. I’ve been attempting to compare it to how I would feel if I suddenly woke up in your world where I existed as a fictional character.”

Becca frowned as she considered this. “But yet you won’t come over tonight?”

There was a moment’s pause. Long enough for her to remember how ridiculous she felt trying to persuade him to come over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Edward promised.

“You won’t,” she said bitterly.

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

“You’re still sick?”

“Conditionally,” she frowned. “There’s not much of a point in going to school on a Friday, is there?”

Edward went quiet. Becca looked around the room as she waited—she could see into the kitchen from here. The NyQuil was on the counter where Edward must have left it earlier. She was glad Charlie hadn’t noticed the medicine lined up by the roll of paper towels.

Becca would take a shot of the cold medicine as soon as this conversation was over and go straight to bed. Hell, maybe she’d even take two shots. She didn’t want her embarrassment at trying, and failing, to get Edward Cullen to come over and talk to her to keep her mind awake. Nor did she want her dreams to be filled with images of dead bodies that her brain conjured up.

“Alright, fine,” Becca muttered. She’d had enough of it. “I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She took notes from Jessica and hung up on him, slamming down the receiver. If he called again, she’d ignore him.

Becca stomped into the kitchen. This was all completely idiotic. Feeling codependent on a seventeen-year-old boy with some sort of moral complex. Bella Swan had never had trouble getting Edward Cullen to sneak in through her window—why was Becca? She took a shot and a half of NyQuil, stuck her head through the living room door, and told Charlie she was going to bed. The volume was so loud she had to shout to be heard.

Charlie waved her away, not looking away from the game, and she went upstairs.

Well, that was the last time she ever asked Edward for anything.

She’d thought they were forming a bond. He’d convinced her to spill all her dirty secrets—well, most of them, at least—and then wouldn’t even come talk to her about them. Now people were being murdered, and he couldn’t even spare the time to come and calm her down?

It wasn’t like he owed her anything. He didn’t. But it felt like he did. All that listening to her earlier, bringing her food and the damn chocolate bar, the medicine, and waking her up from her nap. Was that a façade? It didn’t feel like one, and it certainly didn’t feel like manipulation. If it was, she couldn’t figure out what his angles would be.

But why wouldn’t he come over like she asked him to?

Still huffing to herself, and still irritated by her congested nose, she rolled over and put her face in her pillow—and waited for sleep to find her.

* * *

When she woke up from her dreamless sleep, she attributed it to coughing, but after she was aware that she was awake, she heard the sound of something hitting against her window. A light, tapping sound came intermittently. Perhaps it was because she’d just been asleep, or Charlie’s ominous tales of all of the bodies they’d found, but either way, she was frightened.

She froze, and her heart began to race. It was raining, the drops echoing loudly against the roof. But as the sound came again, she was certain something was out there.

The curtains were closed, so she had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was still dark outside. She squinted at the clock atop her dresser, her eyes straining in the darkness—it was almost midnight.

If someone, a sadistic vampire, serial killer, or otherwise, wanted to kill her, would they do so by throwing something at her window? Wouldn’t they want the chase?

The sound came again. Whatever was being thrown was light enough that it wouldn’t break the window, yet accurate enough that it hit the center each time. Becca was considering whether she should check herself or bolt and go wake up Charlie.

She had just put her hand on the doorknob to go and wake Charlie when she heard an unmistakable knock against the glass and her name being called.

“Bella?”

It was muffled by the rain, but already she was certain she knew who it was.

She walked towards the window and pushed the curtains aside.

Sure enough, perched on an oak tree limb outside of her window, was Edward. His skin was as pale as ever, and this time, he looked appropriately dressed for the weather. He was wearing a gray raincoat with the hood up over dark jeans and a pale blue collared button-down. His hair was wet and dark, and plastered against his forehead.

She tried to ignore how happy it made her to see him--how just by seeing that he'd come after all made her heart skip a beat. She frowned at him instead. “I thought you said climbing through my window was inappropriate.”

“By that," he clarified. "I mostly meant, what would your neighbors think if they saw me?”

“Who cares what people think?” Becca muttered.

She unlocked the window and pushed it open, a gush of cold air rushing inside. Edward moved so quickly that she didn’t even see him climb inside. In as long as it took her to blink just once, he’d come inside, relocked her window, and was now sitting on the edge of her bed, his wet jacket hanging up on her closet door. He looked up at her.

She crossed her arms and shivered. Clad in sweatpants and a tank top, she felt underdressed, even though Edward was the one making house calls at midnight.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the bodies?” Edward whispered.

“What?” she frowned. Her eyes searched his.

“Charlie is one of the lead investigators involved with the case,” he explained, frowning. “He found two of them.”

Becca shivered. That would explain why Charlie had looked so exhausted and rattled. Becca had seen a dead body only once—when she’d done her clinical hours at the university, she’d had to make a wellness check on a student. Luckily, she was with a licensed therapist who oversaw her training, but nothing could compare to the bile that had risen in her throat, nor the hours of therapy sessions she had to sit through afterward just to make up for the sight. She’d never forgotten his name. Damien McConnell. A freshman from a town in Passaic County.

She shook the thought of him for her brain.

“Well,” Becca cleared her throat, giving Edward a look. She went to sit next to him on the bed, being careful not to put too much room in between them. If they’d sat side by side on the couch for hours, they could sit side by side now. “If you already know about them, then I didn’t need to tell you, now did I?”

“We were on the phone,” he said, staring down at her. “You could have told me then.”

She glared at him. “Why are you here, Edward?”

Edward looked very much like he didn’t want to answer her question. He pinched the bridge of his nose. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to answer her, she groaned and leaned back on her bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

He sighed.

“I already told you, Becca. It makes me anxious to be away from you. When I heard about the bodies and the fact that your father—Charlie, I mean—is involved in this,” he shook his head. “I couldn’t stand not knowing that you were safe. Then I realized that likelier than not, this was why you asked me to come over.”

“You made me feel like a fool,” she muttered.

“A fool?”

Edward leaned back so that he was laying right beside her, also staring up at the ceiling. His feet dangled off the end, as he carefully kept his shoes from touching her bed. Their arms were a mere centimeter apart, closer than they had ever been before. Becca crossed her feet to keep from touching his leg. The rain was heavier and sounded like horses were galloping on the roof.

“I asked you to come over,” she muttered. “And you didn’t. After I got all vulnerable and told you everything.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning his face towards hers. “It’s a lot to comprehend, you know. Even for someone like me.”

“You’re so difficult for me to read,” she answered. She kept her face turned away from him, still looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to run away or be my friend.”

“When have I ever given you the impression that I was trying to run away?”

Becca frowned in thought. He had a point. It was true that after their first meeting, he’d run away. But after that week, he was the one chasing after her. Cornering her in the courtyard, saving her in Port Angeles, taking her shopping in Seattle. He had shown her, time and time again, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Becca turned on her side to face him, staring deeply into his eyes.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I just keep thinking that you’re going to get bored of me. You know, like with the chase.”

“Again with ‘the chase,’” he muttered. He shook his head. “Becca, nothing is boring about you. I'm not quite sure why you think so”

At this, she frowned. What was this—flattery? Becca was one of the most boring people she knew. She didn’t have any hobbies. Work _had_ been her hobby. And for sure, she loved Papa Jung, and she loved working with children, but that all had to do with her job. She could speak French but not very well. She could play approximately two chords on a guitar. There was her shellfish allergy, but approximately seven million other Americans had a shellfish allergy.

If you took away the time travel and the universe hopping, she was just like everyone else.

“Well, clearly you don’t know how the chase works,” she mumbled. “Because that’s exactly what happens. In the beginning, you’re fascinated and interested and think the person is unlike everyone else in the world. Then, once you have them, poof.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Edward said.

“How so?”

“Well, don’t I already,” he made quotation marks with his fingers. “’Have you?’”

“That’s very presumptuous, Edward.”

He grinned.

“What are those?” Edward asked pointing at the textbooks that she’d stacked lopsidedly on the dresser.

“My textbooks for Peninsula. Charlie’s deputy picked them up for me.” She frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was strange that Charlie had sent his deputy out to purchase books for her while he was dealing with such a huge problem. “He says I have to drop sustainable agriculture.”

Edward’s eyes lit up. “We should take philosophy instead.”

“ _We_?”

He smirked. “Well, I wasn’t going to take sustainable agriculture because I don’t consume crops. But I think you’d like philosophy, Becca. It has a lot of similarities with psychology.”

She wrinkled her nose. Philosophy had never interested her much when she was in college. One of her roommates told her it was similar to proofs in geometry, and Becca abhorred geometry.

“Doesn’t anything have a lot of similarities with anything else if you frame it correctly?”

"See? You're already thinking like a philosopher," he teased. He shrugged. “Would you rather take physics?”

Becca just groaned.

The rain had slacked off. Becca could hear the sounds of them breathing, as well as Charlie’s faint snores from the other side of the wall. She yawned.

“You should sleep,” Edward said quietly. “It’s getting late.”

She grabbed his hand; he squeezed hers back. It was colder than it had been in the afternoon, but it still wasn’t uncomfortable.

“And you promise that you won’t let me end up like one of those bodies in Bogachiel?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he vowed.

With the knowledge that he was just inches away from her, and the drowsiness she still felt from the NyQuil, her eyes fluttered shut and she fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of yesterday, this story is a month old, which is insane! Thank you to all of you for reading and for the kind words you leave--writing this story is truly getting me through 2021 so far ❤️
> 
> Stay safe out there :)


	16. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions suicide

Becca awoke to the rain still pounding against the roof. She couldn’t see the time, but she knew that it was dark and that it felt very late. She was pressed against something hard, which she first thought was the wall, but a cool hand caught hers, and she realized that it was Edward. 

“What time is it?” she mumbled. Had she been more alert, she would have been embarrassed by how close their bodies were—she must have gravitated towards him in her sleep. As it was, she only felt one emotion for the time being, and that was _secure_. 

“Almost one o’clock,” he answered her quietly. “You’ve only been asleep for a few minutes.” 

His breath was so close to her ear that she shivered. 

“Aren’t you bored?” she whispered. 

“I’ve been reading,” he told her. 

She rolled over to face him, pressing herself closer without realizing it—or perhaps, on a subconscious level, she very much _did_ realize it. His arm felt cold beneath her neck, but she didn’t mind. Their eyes were so close that she could point out gentle specs of brown and yellow mixed into the gold. Each of their noses was only a half-centimeter from the other. 

She could feel his breath against her lips. Cold and fruity, as if he’d just eaten a bucket of strawberries. 

It wouldn’t take much for their lips to touch. A slip against the satin pillow, an accidental movement, and she could kiss him. A thousand knots formed in her stomach at the thought. She was surprised that Edward allowed her to be so close to him, that he wasn’t disgusted by their proximity. They had a certain comradery, sure. He seemed to want to keep her safe just as much as she wanted for him to. He also seemed to have her best interests in mind, and not necessarily what she wanted. But this was certainly a very forward predicament to find themselves in. 

She had never even thought of kissing him before. 

And she was very surprised, at the moment, by how much she wanted to. 

What was it about the darkness that made everything feel more intimate? 

She closed her eyes and shook her head imperceptibly. This was Edward Cullen. She couldn't even think about kissing him. 

“What are you reading?” she whispered. 

He looked amused as he brought the book down, with his free arm, to face her. “Infinite Jest.”

“David Foster Wallace?” she blinked. 

“You know it?” Edward sounded just as surprised. “I thought you didn’t read.” 

“I don’t,” she frowned. “When I can help it. But my dad loves it. He bought me a copy for Christmas one year, but I never got around to reading it.” 

“It’s one of my favorite books,” Edward admitted. 

“You know, he commits suicide in 2008,” she said quietly. “David Foster Wallace.” 

Edward said nothing. 

Becca rolled over on her back. His arm was still beneath her neck, and they were incredibly close to one another, but she had other things to process. 

“My dad was devastated,” she said. “For him, it contributed to this idea that there was nothing remarkable about being intelligent, and that we were all heading towards the same ending no matter what.” 

It became abundantly clear to her, with her own words, how much more intelligent Edward was than her. She’d known it all along, of course—how could she begin to measure up with a person who had lived a century, attended high school and college multiple times in a variety of areas, who didn’t need to sleep, and who could read minds? 

The answer was simple: she couldn’t. 

The follow-up question was also simple: why did any of that matter? 

Edward noticed her change in emotion, and he frowned. “Are you alright?” 

“When people ask me my favorite book, I tell them it’s Pride and Prejudice.” 

“It’s a good book.” 

She smiled. “I’ve never read it.” 

Edward snorted. He closed Infinite Jest and set it on the nightstand, then brought his hand to rest on his forehead. 

“When people ask you your favorite book, you tell them it’s Infinite Jest,” she continued. 

“Not always. I have several favorites.” 

Becca sighed. “What are your favorites, then?” 

He smiled. “Too many to name. It would bore you.” 

“Try me.” 

Edward laughed. “Becca, I’ve read a lot of books in my life. If I were to tell you all of my favorites, we’d be here all night.” 

“Well,” she pointed out. “We’re already here, and it’s night, so…”

He laughed again. She smiled, proud that she could make him do so. If she couldn’t be as intelligent as him, at least she could be funnier than him. 

“I suppose Crime and Punishment is another one of my favorites. You’d like that one, I think. There’s Ulysses, and the Odyssey, of course. Anything by James Joyce. There’s a South African author, a contemporary one, named Coetzee. I read a lot of Vonnegut. Willa Cather. Hemingway.”

“That doesn’t sound like too many to name.” 

He shook his head. “Would you like for me to tell you books in their original languages? Or translate them?” 

“The original, of course.” 

He grinned. Edward, it seemed, was more playful at night, too. 

“Well, there’s Мастер и Маргарита, мы, Ficciones, Choucas, La Peste, I Promessi Sposi, Hónglóu Mèng, Rúlín Wàishǐ…and so many more.” 

His voice changed each time he said a title, falling naturally into the cadences of each language. It was beautiful. Becca felt even more inadequate lying next to him, knowing good and well that she only picked up on one of those titles because it was French. 

“The Plague?” she questioned. 

“Camus. Have you read it?” 

“No, but I recognize the French. I studied there.” 

“Where? Paris?” 

“Nice.” 

“I’ve never been,” Edward admitted. “I’ve been to many places in France, but never there.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Becca smiled. “The beach is covered in pebbles and the sunsets are so wonderful that they look like a scene from a movie. The water is like silk. I have this picture from when I was nineteen, standing in the sea at sunset. My friend and I just walked into the ocean with our dresses on. We ate foie grass that night overlooking the riviera. I’ll never forget it.” 

“Why did you choose to study in France?” 

She thought about it before she answered. “I was a political science major for a semester and studying abroad was required. And I took French all of high school, so it was easier than starting over with a new language.”

“Why did you switch from political science?” 

“Too much of a game,” she answered. “It’s not about making a difference the way that I would like for it to be. Or I suppose people go into it to make a difference, and maybe they just get caught up in the world around them. I chose social work because I could make a difference, even though I guess I didn’t end up doing that, either.” 

If Edward was perplexed by what she meant, he didn’t show it. They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Becca’s mind was elsewhere. In many ways, this reality still felt otherworldly. Transient, like she was in between airport terminals. 

“Will you tell me something?” he wondered. 

She nodded. 

“What is it about reading that bothers you? I only mean to ask because you appear very interested in learning, so I find it peculiar that you also don’t like to read.” 

He didn’t sound rude or judgmental, which was often how people—namely her mother—sounded. Edward sounded genuinely curious as if he was just trying to learn more about her. 

“It just takes me longer to read things, I guess,” she admitted, shrugging. “It’s not severe enough to even talk about. I once had a professor pull me aside after reading a reflection I turned in during class and tell me I should talk to someone about my comprehension, but I never did because I don't think it's a problem.” 

“No one else ever asked you?” he sounded intrigued. 

“No. Like I said, it's not that bad. It’s just why I hate reading. Most of my teachers and my mom always thought I wasn’t trying.” She felt Edward’s hand squeeze her arm. Her heart stuttered, but she kept going. “And honestly, I probably wasn’t trying. I do fine in school here because I know how to navigate the system. What college taught me most was how predetermined everything is. It’s easy to succeed once you figure out the formula.” 

“It is a formula,” he agreed. “I’m surprised you’ve figured that out already.” 

“I see it in the kids I work with. Am I being too radical for 2005 if I say the American education system doesn’t care about anyone?” 

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t answer. 

Becca sighed. “I mean, I’ve missed over a week of school cumulatively, and my grades are nearly perfect. Trigonometry is a bit difficult because it's been a while since I've studied math, and biology of course, but that’s because I don’t want to put effort into memorizing something I will never need.” 

They lapsed into silence again. Perhaps Edward didn’t agree with her and that was why he was quiet. Or maybe he didn’t have anything to say. 

“Tell me,” Edward said eventually. “Do you have a _real_ favorite book? One you don’t tell anyone about?” 

She pursed her lips, thinking about it. 

“Stellaluna.” She turned her head to look at him again. “Have you ever read it?” 

“No,” he smiled. “Tell me about it.” 

“It’s a children’s book. I keep it in my car for when I’m working with young kids. Even the teenagers I deal with are usually familiar with it because it’s so widely read in kindergarten. It’s about this baby bat who gets lost and grows up with birds. It conveys the notion of there not being such a thing as a ‘bad child,’ which is pretty important in my philosophy of social work.”

“I’ll buy a copy of this book tomorrow,” he promised.

Becca tried to hide her smile but to no avail. She didn’t realize it, but she was playing with the hem of Edward’s shirt. It had come untucked, and either he didn’t notice either or he didn’t care. 

“What do you mean by 'bad child?'” 

“The idea that a child is good or bad. Most kids are ‘bad’ because something else is going on in their lives. Even as adults, we react because of other things.” She frowned. “I don’t know if the theory has been developed here yet.” 

“I haven’t formally heard of it,” he said. “But it makes sense logically.” 

“I like to explain it like an avocado, which is the same way I talk about trauma. The pit, the inside, is where you store your beliefs about yourself and your environment. The squishy part you eat is where all of your feelings are. The skin is the part everyone sees—sometimes it’s a reflection of the middle part, but usually, you have no idea what the actual squishy part is based on just the skin. And to eat the squishy part, you have to take out the pit. But you can only take the pit out in spaces you feel safe.” 

Edward was quiet again. Becca ran her thoughts over the words she’d just said, but she knew she hadn’t said anything wrong. If there was anything that she was certain of in life, it was her ability to talk about the avocado metaphor. She listened to the rain against the roof and waited for him to say something. 

“Becca?” he asked finally. 

“Hm?” 

“I want to talk about your 'pit.'” 

With his free hand, he made an air quote around the word. She nodded, smiling at his use of her terminology. 

“You didn’t die from your pandemic,” he stated. 

“No,” she admitted. "I didn't."

"I'm very sorry," he whispered. "For all the pain of your world." 

"It isn't your fault." 

"You can be sorry for things that aren't your fault." 

It was something about the way he spoke to her like she was worth something. Like she wasn’t a waste of space--like she wasn’t completely average; like she had significance. He seemed to enjoy their conversations, and her mind—her essence, as he had once said. And maybe it was the fact that they were right beside each other and the room was dark, but suddenly she wanted to be as close to him as possible. 

She made an impulsive decision and burrowed next to him, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. It was a button-down, and one of the buttons dug into her temple, but she ignored it. She felt him tense, then relax, in what felt like a mere second. Another moment passed, and he wrapped both of his arms around her, holding her closer than she had ever been held by anyone before.

* * *

She dreamt that she was at home. 

The real house on Spring Street. The house where, outside by the mailbox, she’d had her first kiss. The house where she’d taught Bennet to ride his little blue bike in the summer, dodging cars and getting yelled at for attempting. 

The house where she’d, eventually, decided to end it all. 

It was a summer evening, and humidity hung in the air; the outside smelt of trash trucks and weed, and she could hear cars racing by outside the window. Her bedroom window was a few meters from the road. Bennet laughed in the room across the hall; he was playing Madden with his friends—his main nighttime source of entertainment. Lizzie was at home now too, lounging across Becca’s bed, Nicholas at her feet, her blonde curly hair frizzy and her face scarred with the acne she complained about every chance she got. Lizzie spent more than half of her Starbucks paycheck on skincare. 

Lizzie currently had her head stuck in a textbook. She was taking summer classes, trying to spend her quarantine wisely. Her orange notebook was on her left side and her laptop on her right. Even though she was now unemployed, watching her little sister struggle through math problems made Becca grateful she’d never even attempted anything regarding finance. 

Had it not been for the circumstances that led to the situation, Becca might have been happy to be back with her family. 

Becca’s mother appeared in the doorway. Plump, straight brown hair tinged with gray, her face long, wrinkled, and tired. Though she was paid through the summer, ever since the divorce, they needed extra money to maintain the house on Spring Street. Becca’s father dutifully paid them monthly, but her mother was often too prideful to ask for anything other than what he gave them. 

“Did you find anything today?” her mother questioned, staring at Becca. 

Becca shook her head. She spent her days searching every job website she could find. She knew that all she had to do was apply at a clinic outside of Trenton and she would get the job. The pandemic had called for a desperate need for social workers, and as her Dad had told her plenty of times, she could lie on the job application. There was no permanent record of job termination. She could simply say that she had never been terminated before. 

If it weren’t for the guilt that had a permanent place in her mind. 

“Did you at least _apply_ for something today?” 

Becca had been applying to loads of jobs. She applied to a dozen or more a day. But hardly anyone was hiring, and she had a tough time balancing just how burnt out she felt with any desire to get a new one. 

“Leave her alone, Mom,” Lizzie said, not even glancing up from her book. “She’s trying.” 

Becca’s mother wasn’t harsh enough to charge Becca rent when she didn’t have any money, nor would she ever kick her daughter out, much less in the middle of a pandemic. But Becca being at home, as a twenty-four-year-old who had lived on her own for five years, was causing a rift in an already tumultuous relationship. 

And Becca knew that her mother was imperfect. She was a deeply flawed person like everyone else in the world. Becca knew that the way her mother viewed Becca’s trajectory of life was based on what she thought was the right way. Her mother acted the way she did because of her mother, and her mother because of her mother, and her mother’s mother because of her mother—all the way back to Eve. 

People usually tried their best to do the right thing. The problem was doing the right thing was largely subjective, and what was right for one person wasn’t right for another. 

You just weren’t meant to be friends with everyone, and sometimes that meant your family, too.

* * *

Perhaps it was the thought of her mother that woke her from the stupor she’d been dwelling in. Perhaps it was her self-consciousness. Perhaps it was the fact that the dream she’d had involved a situation that Becca couldn’t, consciously at least, remember having. 

Perhaps it merely happened for her the same way that famous scientists claimed of making their great discoveries—it came to her in a dream. 

In any case, she knew when she woke up to the light coming from beneath her curtains that she needed to reevaluate the situation. 

She yawned and stretched, and her hand hit a slip of paper. Squinting down at it, she recognized the handwriting immediately. 

_Becca,_

_I left last night once you fell asleep. If you would like to spend time together today, I’ll list my cellphone number below, and you can give me a call. Due to the weather, I will be “camping” with my siblings._

She didn’t know why she’d never considered that he would have a cellphone, or consequently, why she’d never thought to even ask. They had cellphones in the TV show Friends—of course they would them here in 2005. 

Becca put his note on top of her Jung books and headed for the shower, taking time to wash her hair. Her head still dully ached, but nothing that ibuprofen wouldn’t cure. She suspected that the rain last night had washed away some of the pollen. 

She felt much better mentally, almost like an anvil had been lifted from her mind and her heart. For telling Edward what she had. He was right, after all. She couldn’t heal herself any more than a surgeon could remove their own appendix. 

There were carefully designed methods of helping people deal with trauma—dozens and dozens of methods. People had their favorites, which was why therapy was an art. You had to be matched with someone who had a method that was most beneficial to you. 

Becca figured that despite how transient this afterlife felt, she had to officially come to terms with the fact that waking up in a different reality, one she had read about when she was an adolescent, _was_ trauma. Just as everything that had happened before was, too. 

There would be good days and bad days. However, she needed to ground herself and make sure that more days were good than bad ones. That was the best-kept secret of adulthood, after all. You could do quite literally anything you wanted. There were no rules. 

But knowing what she had to do and doing it were two very different things. 

Why this reality? Why this time period? Why had she become seventeen years old, aside from the obvious point that Bella Swan was seventeen? 

As she got dressed for the day, she considered what she remembered. These murders that Charlie was dealing with were likely connected to the end of Twilight. The climax, she remembered, was Edward sucking venom from Bella Swan’s hand. She didn’t remember much else about the end of the book, just that very special baseball scene. 

Yet, she was very certain, based on the trajectory of the plot so far, that those plot points would also come true—was it possible that book Bella had just been too obsessed with Edward to notice that there were murders? She also didn’t remember book Bella bonding as much with Charlie, either, though Becca figured that it had more to do with how she felt closer to Charlie mentally than she did Bella. 

It was as if she was on the same train track as Bella Swan had been—just sitting in a different compartment. 

Downstairs, she found a stack of papers with her name on it in the center of the table. Angela, it appeared, had taken it upon herself to drop her schoolwork off from the day before. She thumbed through them; they were mostly mindless worksheets. Becca came upon the last few pages. In blue ink, Angela had neatly hand-copied all of the notes they’d taken yesterday. 

Becca stared at them dumbfounded. She wasn’t used to such kindness. She would plan a sleepover with Jessica and Angela next week for sure. 

She called Edward’s cellphone and invited him over, then spent the time waiting for him eating a granola bar. 

If it was possible, as Edward believed, that she could die in this reality, then did it also make it possible that she could return to the real world she had come from? That this place was, as she already thought, transient? If she was indeed following the same train tracks as Bella Swan had, those tracks had a stopping point. Perhaps when they reached the end, she could return to the real world. 

Yet one question remained. 

Even if Becca could go back to the year 2020, to the mess of the world she’d left behind, would she even _want_ to return? After all, she was the one who had chosen to willingly leave her life. No one had made her. 

A knock at the door startled her, and she jumped. She felt caffeinated, like every nerve in her body was hyperaware. 

It was Edward.

“Good morning,” he greeted as she opened the door for him. He was dressed the same as yesterday—a hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, long pants, sunglasses over his eyes. Everything he could to protect his skin from the sun. 

“Morning,” Becca replied, turning and heading back to the kitchen where she began rifling through the work Angela had left for her. 

“I think you’re right,” she told him once she’d sat down. 

“I usually am. But what about this time?” 

She blinked—why did that sound so familiar? “I think I can die in this reality.” 

Edward pulled out a chair, the legs screeching against the linoleum. He took his sunglasses off and his forehead creased. He folded his arms across the table. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

“That’s why you’re so concerned about my safety.” 

His eyes were gentle. “I already told you this.” 

He had, only not in so many words. He was concerned for her because he thought she could die, that she wasn’t invincible the way she thought. But _why_ did he care about her death? She wasn’t Bella Swan, his fated love interest. She was Becca Fitzgerald. 

Becca made a face. “I want you to tell me why.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why you care if I die. Why you want to protect me. It wouldn’t change your life much, would it?” 

Edward tensed. He took a very long time to speak. “I told you before that I don’t exactly know why. It makes me anxious to be without you. When I don’t know where you are, I get worried.”

Becca frowned at this. 

“Furthermore,” he continued, his gaze turning sharp. “You may have only been here for a short period, but it would change my life very much if you weren’t in it. You can’t even imagine.” 

Except she could imagine. What it was like for her brother, only eleven years old, having to cope with losing his best friend. Or her mother, who, as a devout Catholic, probably thought that Becca had gone straight to Hell. 

Her sister’s words echoed in her mind. _She’s trying._

And maybe it was the way that Edward said it, that he said it all or, most of all, the fact that this is what she had been wanting to hear for her entire life.

She met Edward’s gaze, nodded, then looked down at the work in front of her. They were studying the unit circle in trigonometry. A bunch of useless memorization. She liked the ease of this life before her; it was what she missed about her high school days—knowing where to go and be and what to do. But that had gotten old fast. She didn’t want to have her existence predetermined. 

“You’re different today,” Edward commented. He was glancing over her work as she completed each page. 

She shrugged, filling out the circle. She had at least seen it before, though that had been over seven years ago. “I guess so.” 

“Why is that?” 

Becca finished the page and then flipped it, staring down at the government page in front of her. She would have to memorize all of the twenty-seven amendments for a quiz next Tuesday. She already knew most of them. 

“I had a dream last night,” Becca said slowly. She stared out of the window. “About being back home with my mother and sister. I haven’t dreamt of my mother at all since being here.” 

His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “What happened in your dream?” 

“Nothing. She was questioning me about getting a job. Edward,” she frowned. She put down her pencil. “I need you to tell me why you’re so interested in spending time with me. You've told me before, but I just don't get it. I don’t like to read, and you do. You said you like how much I care about psychology, but we hardly ever talk about it. In any other circumstance, I doubt we’d even be friends. What is it about me, here and now, that makes you want to spend time with me?” 

It was a question that deserved a lengthy answer. She didn’t want to be showered with compliments or him to even consider her feelings. She wanted him to give her the truth so that she could move on with her life—whatever that meant. 

Edward took a very long time to begin speaking. But once he started, he didn’t stop talking for a while. 

“Rebecca Fitzgerald,” he began, and she flinched—that was what her mother called her when she was in trouble. “I thought it was obvious that I like spending time with you because you are you, as I've told you before. I think the true marking of a good friendship is when you can talk about anything and absolutely everything, and I feel that I can do that with you. It doesn’t matter that you don’t like the same things I do; what matters is that you can talk about the things that you like and that you listen to even the things that you don’t.” 

“I’ll admit that I’m fascinated by you. Of course I am. By this world that you’ve painted—a world in which my family and I only exist two-dimensionally. Not much about you makes sense. It doesn’t make sense that I can’t read your mind, or that you’ve come from the future. But that’s not the main reason why I enjoy talking to you.” 

He took a deep breath to clear his throat. 

“You say that in different circumstances, we wouldn’t be friends. I disagree; I believe our personalities are compatible. The way your brain works is intriguing. You’re opinionated and intelligent, even if you don’t believe yourself so. You aren’t perfect, but you don’t pretend to be. You have a certain sense of…agency that I have never seen in anyone before.” 

She frowned again. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. She couldn’t decide if what he had just told her actually had substance or if it just seemed as such. Edward was very good with words, after all.

“I’m having a sleepover next week,” she said instead of responding to anything he’d said. “You can’t come, but I’d like for you to invite Alice and Rosalie.” 

His eyebrows furrowed. “You know that they don’t sleep, right?”

She smiled. “That isn’t the point.” 

He frowned. “And you’re sure about inviting Rosalie?” 

“Completely sure.” 

Edward stared at her for a few more seconds, then shrugged. Becca grinned. 

The other world might not exactly have been hers for the taking, but she was going to be damn sure that this one was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like to justify my characters/writing because I personally don't think it adds to the story if an author has to explain why someone did something--so I'm not going to do that here. 
> 
> HOWEVER, I do want to give a reminder that Becca Fitzgerald is, um, certainly not the poster child for having a healthy sense of mental health. Social work is a very emotional and draining field and I have mad respect for anyone who does it. That being said, Becca is 150% fictional. She is flawed. Anything she does or says is a result of her character, and not necessarily what *should* be said or done. Please do not think that the way that Becca Fitzgerald acts in this story is in any way indicative of how someone who is a real-life social worker should act. 
> 
> In any case, this is a sort of heavier chapter and I hope it clarifies some stuff! We're about 10-12 chapters from the end according to my (rough) outline. I'll try and update this Friday if not before. I know I usually update on Sunday/Wednesday so I apologize for not updating this Sunday! But life gets kinda tough sometimes 😕
> 
> Thank you for your kudos, reviews, and most of all, for reading! I really really really appreciate it ❤️I hope you're all safe and well!!!


	17. Conversations

Becca spent the rest of Friday afternoon completing her homework. Edward helped her with her biology, though he insisted that she eventually needed to learn it herself—which seemed to be in vain since he didn’t seem to mind helping her at all. Something had changed between them, though neither of them could quite tell what it was. The relationship was lighter, and their banter returned more so now than even at the beginning of their friendship. 

In between helping her with her biology homework, Edward seemed very content to read Infinite Jest. The only sounds filling the room was the scratching of Becca’s pencil on the paper, and Edward turning the pages at an alarmedly fast rate. 

And it got old. Fast. 

Becca stared at him for several moments, hoping he’d get the hint that she was annoyed by how he flipped a page every second, but he was so absorbed in the text that he didn’t even notice her glance. Only when she set her pencil down and crossed her arms on the table did he look up at her. 

“Are you seriously reading _that_ fast?” 

He smiled crookedly. His eyes were light, his entire mood joyous. He looked like he was having the time of his life. Becca couldn’t help but smile in response. 

“Yes.” 

Becca shook her head, biting her lip. “That book took my dad _a year_ to read.” 

Edward shrugged. “I’ve already read it a few times.” 

To prove his point, he flipped to the end, closed it, and then began rummaging through a bag that Becca hadn’t realized he’d brought with him. Edward had never carried a backpack with him as long as she’d known him, and she had no idea why he’d chosen to carry one now. 

He put a stack of books before him. Anna Karenina. The Brothers Karamazov. A few other several hundred-page books she’d never heard of: Middlemarch, 2666, East of Eden. At least she’d heard of Steinbeck—she’d never heard of George Eliot or Roberto Bolaño before. 

She eyed the books, skepticism clear in her features. “Are you seriously going to read all of that today?” 

He shrugged again, still smiling. “I wanted to be prepared for our courses on Monday.” 

Becca stared at him dumbfounded. “But we’re not taking a novel class.” 

“No,” he smiled. “But we’re taking an introduction to poetry class. A good scholar is one who can form connections to any body of work, either inside or outside the realm of their studies.” 

“That’s a very pretentious thing to say.” 

“Is it?” he tilted his head. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not well versed in the manners of your time. Is it considered ignominious in the future to admit that one admires quality intellect? If so, perhaps I need to ensure that I stay in _this_ time period forever.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. She didn’t have the faintest idea what the word ignominious meant, but she assumed correctly from his facial expression that he was mocking her, and therefore went back to working on the trigonometry. 

She was surprised by how much she enjoyed the work once she felt that she was in the right mentality to do so. Numbers had always come slightly easier than words for her. It felt safe knowing that she could work out any problem, at least for now in the class, and have a finite answer. By five o’clock, she had mostly memorized the entire unit circle. 

“Tell me,” Edward said, watching her as she stood to pack up her things before Charlie came home. “Is there anything good that comes in the future? You’ve spoken only of the tragedies.” 

Becca sat back down. She took a very long time to formulate a response. It was easy to think about how many bad things had happened—several school and public shootings, multiple natural disasters, various other health crises. And that was only from an American perspective; it didn’t include all of the political unrest and wars and disease that struck several other countries. 

“There’s…good music, I guess?” 

Edward rolled his eyes. “That’s all?” 

“There are also some great movies and TV shows. Incredible athletes. There’s this one gymnast named Simone Biles who becomes the most decorated gymnast in history. She’s amazing.” 

He smiled. “You mean to tell me that all there is in the next decade and a half is good entertainment and good athletics?” 

“Well, the 2012 London Olympics are also _really_ good.” Becca wrinkled her nose and shrugged. After a moment, she amended her statement. “But there’s also Barack Obama becoming president in 2008 like I told you. He later ends up appointing a woman named Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court—she’s the first Latina member of the Supreme Court. The Supreme Court eventually declares same-sex marriage legal in all fifty states.” 

“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows. “That sounds progressive.” 

“More progressive than George Bush, sure,” she corrected, frowning. “But don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say it stayed ‘progressive’ for long.” 

He appeared as if he wanted to ask for more information but watched her instead. “Is there anything else?”

“Hm,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “There was a total solar eclipse in 2017. That was pretty cool. Scientists took the first-ever photo of a black hole!” She scrutinized his face, racking her brain for any scientific news that she knew he would find interesting. “A ton of medical advancements. Scientists found a cure for Hepatitis C. There’s no cure for HIV yet, but there have been incredible breakthroughs with some drugs, and at least one man became entirely free from the virus.” 

“Fascinating,” he murmured. She knew from his tone that he probably had a million questions, but she wasn’t prepared to answer them. She tried to convey this through her expression the best she could. “Tell me something else.” 

She frowned. “What?” 

He paused, seeming to build the tension. Reaching across the table, he spread his fingers over the back of her right hand. Tapping gently against her skin, he asked, “What’s good about the life of Becca Fitzgerald in this future?” 

Becca flushed at the phrasing of his question, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was his touch, or the kindness in his eyes when he asked. 

“It isn’t great,” she said, shaking her head. She gestured with her hand. “Clearly.” 

“I don’t believe it could be all that bad. Not with you in it.” 

She blushed even harder at his words and looked down at her lap. Edward began to draw absentmindedly on the back of her hand. 

“Tell me about what you enjoy about your life,” he urged. “What is it that you like?”

Becca bit her lip and tried to think of an answer. 

“You could start small,” Edward amended. “What makes you happy?” 

It was a lot harder than it should have been. Random thoughts came to mind—listening to the right song just as a plane was taking off; the taste of a smoothie mixed just right; driving down an empty road with iced coffee and a Taylor Swift album playing. 

“I have a WoodWick candle in my room I like,” she said. “It smells like bananas.” 

“And?” 

“And I have this tiny cactus named Kiwi. You wouldn’t get the reference. It’s from a Harry Styles song, and he’d be like ten? Maybe eleven? In this reality. If he exists, that is.” 

“What else?” 

She finally looked up at him, into his eyes, which were soft and caring and good. Becca flipped her hand over and caught his in hers. They were cold again, but slightly warmer than the night before. Now they just felt like he had poor circulation and had been out in the cold too long. 

“My cat Nicholas. And my brother and sister. Bennet is always giving me these weird animal facts and Lizzie regularly gives me free drinks from Starbucks, even though it’s against her manager’s rules. I told you before I like going hiking with my dad. Sometimes he brings along his Bluetooth speaker and when there’s no one near us, he puts on the music he grew up with. Old stuff like Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin.”

Edward raised his eyebrows at her. She wondered if he knew what a Bluetooth speaker was. Surely they had already been invented in 2005?

“What?” she frowned

“All that talk about my frontal lobe development and you call Bob Dylan and Led Zeppelin _old_. I was sixty years old when Bob Dylan signed his first recording contract.” 

Becca groaned and rolled her eyes but bit her lip to hide her grin. The age difference between the two of them—that is, Edward Cullen’s seventeen-year-old self and Becca Fitzgerald's real twenty-four-year-old self—had been worrying her somewhere deep in her mind. But if anything, he had known a world much differently than the one that she had. If he wasn’t bothered by it, then perhaps she shouldn’t be either. 

They stared at each other. Becca found herself mesmerized looking at him. Something had changed between them. When she thought back to her steps of dealing with someone’s trauma, she knew the first step was always admission before processing. Perhaps now that she was in the processing stage, something more was developing between them. Something light, more open. 

She wanted to hear all of his secrets, too. Though she already knew his big ones, she knew that in a century, he had to have covered up plenty more. 

Edward suddenly cocked his head to the side, appearing to listen to something. “Charlie just turned off the highway. Should I leave?” 

“He’s late,” Becca frowned, glancing at the microwave clock. She clutched Edward’s hand tighter. “You can stay.” 

Becca wasn’t sure what she would say to Charlie. Perhaps she would say that Edward was helping her study? That he would be taking college courses with her and they were preparing for classes on Monday? Charlie didn’t seem as though he would care much one way or the other, though there was his slight adverse reaction to the ‘not my boyfriend’ remark from the night before. 

She heard Charlie’s car turn onto the gravel, and her heart began to race. Edward noticed and held her hand tighter. She could do this, she assured herself. She’d already introduced boys to her _real_ parents. Charlie was just her fake one. And Edward wasn’t even her boyfriend. 

She heard Charlie’s key turn in the lock. Becca had locked the door after Edward had come in, something she had taken to doing ever since the stakes had increased for Charlie’s profession. She hadn’t heard of any more deaths…yet. And she assumed that Edward would have mentioned it if he’d heard of anything. 

The heavy weight of Charlie’s boots echoed against the hardwood floor, and there was a thud as he hung up his belt. Becca had let go of Edward’s hand, only so she could fidget with her fingers to calm herself. 

“Bella?” Charlie called, suspicion deep in his voice. 

He’d seen the Volvo in the driveway, and at this point, he had to know that it was Edward’s. For all the emphasis that Becca remembered the books putting on Edward’s car, it sure was ordinary by her standards. 

“Hi, Dad,” she called, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. 

Charlie walked slowly around the corner; his arms were already folded across his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Edward as he shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on top of the empty chair in between Becca and Edward. 

“He’s taking classes with me at Peninsula,” Becca explained as Charlie’s eyes shifted to Edward. “He came by to drop off some work.” 

Charlie frowned. He nodded at Edward. “Edward, is it?” 

Edward stood and held his hand out to Charlie. Charlie eyed his hand dubiously, but within a few moments, reached out and took Edward’s hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Chief Swan.” 

Charlie grunted. As Edward sat back down, Charlie crossed the small counter and stood leaning against it. “We’re going to have to go down to the Rez tonight, Bella. We won’t stay long, but if we don’t go tonight, it’ll be next weekend before we can drop the truck off. I’m going to have to work late tomorrow.” 

“Because of the murders?” Becca questioned. 

“Now, Bella, I’ve never said that there were any murders.” Charlie glared at her, then with his eyes, looked pointedly to Edward. 

Edward kept his gaze trained on the back of his hand, as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, never mind the fact that he had several multi-hundred-page notable novels in front of him. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “Are you referring to the corpses that were found yesterday, Chief Swan?” 

“The corpses that were found by an animal attack, yes,” Charlie said, his eyes narrowing at Becca again. “How do you know about them?” 

“My father has also been involved. He’s been examining the causes of death alongside the coroner. He warned my siblings and me to steer clear of the forest.” 

“Oh,” Charlie said. He blinked and his expression lightened almost immediately at the mention of Carlisle. “Your father is a good man. Forks is certainly lucky to have him.” 

“We’re lucky to have Forks,” Edward replied. “But that is very kind of you to say, sir. I’ll be sure to relay the compliment.” 

Charlie looked out of the window, then back at Becca. “Bella, you better go ahead and get ready. It’s already almost dark out.” 

“I just need to get my shoes,” she said. She glanced at Edward. “I’ll walk you out?” 

Edward smiled and stood, putting his books into the backpack he’d brought with him. Becca noticed for the first time that it was black and sleek looking, and like something out of a fashion catalogue. Perhaps Alice had an extra—she’d like to have one that looked just like it. 

“It was nice meeting you, Chief Swan,” Edward said. 

“You too,” Charlie grumbled. As Becca left the room he called after her. “Don't take too long. We’re leaving in five minutes.” 

Becca rolled her eyes while Charlie couldn’t see. She held the front door open, ushering Edward outside. She slammed it closed behind them.

It was past dusk, the sky painted in the blue hues of twilight. The temperature had dropped a few degrees as well, but nothing that she couldn’t handle. She would need to remember to grab her jacket from her room to take with her before they left for the Reservation. 

Their hands had gotten entangled together, somehow out of Becca’s notice—or perhaps she was just becoming so accustomed to the feeling of his hand against hers that she hadn't realized it. They walked slowly down the steps together towards Edward’s car. She could hear cars racing down the highway. 

Edward let go of her hand and leaned against his car. He gazed down at his feet. Becca could never quite get over the perfection of his skin; she wondered why, at the very least, no one had ever suspected that he wore foundation. It appeared poreless, and she had never met anyone who had such quality skin. 

“I have to ask,” Edward said. He slightly lifted his head, and his eyes met hers. “These werewolves you mentioned yesterday. Are you certain that they exist?” 

“I mean,” she moved to lean against the car beside him. “I can’t be sure, right? I’ve never met them. But I’m pretty sure that they do. Or at least they will. They’re only mentioned in the beginning; they don’t show up until the second book.” 

“And according to this timeline you’ve created…we’re still in the ‘first book?’”

“ _I_ didn’t create the timeline. But yes. The first book ends when Bella gets hunted by these wild vampires. She gets bitten by one of them, and then Edward—” she looked up at him. “Then _you_ suck the venom from her hand.” 

Edward made a choking sound. “ _What_?” 

Becca frowned. “Well, your family is having a baseball game, and you bring Bella to watch, and these wild vampires come. One of them is a hunter—like a really good one. I forgot what they called him. Anyway, he becomes obsessed with Bella and starts chasing her, so she has to flee the area. She goes and tracks this vampire down and he bites her. You save her by sucking the venom out of her hand.” 

Edward shook his head. “That’s impossible.” 

She shrugged. “So is this entire situation.” 

Edward frowned. “This is different. You can’t… _I_ can’t suck venom from someone’s body. Once you start, it would be _impossible_ to stop.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe we can get someone to volunteer to bite me and experiment?” 

He just glared at her. 

She grinned. “I have to go get my stuff before Charlie gets upset. I’ll see you later?” 

“Monday,” he promised. 

Becca’s face fell. “Not tomorrow?” 

“I’m going hunting with Emmett—he thinks I’ve been neglecting him. Would you like for me to pick you up for school on Monday?” 

Becca bit her lip, deliberating. She would like that very much—but she needed to be rational. She should spend time with the others in this reality, too. “I should probably let Angela pick me up.” 

His eyes were soft as he looked over at her 

“Probably,” he agreed quietly. He smiled. “Well then, I’ll see you at school and I’ll pick you up for poetry and philosophy?” 

“I still haven’t agreed to take it,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“But I think that you will,” he said. He caught her hand again, threading their fingers together. “Philosophy will be great. It’s incredibly thought-provoking—no pun intended.” 

“Bella!” Charlie called from the doorway. His arms were crossed, and he’d changed out of his uniform into a flannel and jeans. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Let’s go.” 

Becca squeezed Edward’s hand and let go of it. “I’ll let you know about philosophy on Monday.” 

She turned away from him and hurried to where Charlie was waiting, taking the steps to the porch two at a time. Behind her, she heard Edward’s car start, but she didn’t turn to look. 

“That was six minutes,” Charlie said as she closed the front door behind her. 

Becca was already halfway upstairs when she called cheekily, “Well, I won’t make it seven.” 

When she glanced out of her window, Edward was already gone, and the night had come; she quickly grabbed her things and prepared to meet Jacob Black.

* * *

The drive to La Push was louder than she’d expected. The truck had a heavy engine and Charlie didn’t bother to turn the radio on. Even though Becca had been driving for several more years than Bella Swan, and even though Bella Swan indeed had a license, Becca was grateful Charlie didn’t take it upon himself to teach her how to drive a manual at night.

The cars they passed were few and in between, and the roads were curvy and dark. Each side of the road, or at least what she could see from the headlights, was shrouded by dark forests. Becca knew there was a river behind these forests, and she was sure that if it was light out, it would be breathtaking. 

The night, however, was unsettling. 

“Have there been any more deaths?” Becca asked. The front of the truck was a bench seat, and she was surprised by how spacious it was. 

“Not today,” Charlie answered. He turned on his signal and went down a road that Becca would have never noticed. “Thank God.” 

“But you still have to work tomorrow?” 

“Yes,” he muttered. He glanced over at her. “Which reminds me. I don’t know why I have to tell you this—I haven’t before. I guess it’s that you’ve never lived permanently with me. But you aren’t allowed to tell people, no matter how good of friends they are, about what goes on. That’s confidential information. If Dr. Cullen hadn’t already told his family, that could have caused a lot of problems.” 

Though she knew deep down that what Charlie told her was true, especially because she knew all too well how important confidentiality claims were, Becca felt the sudden need to defend Edward. 

“Edward wouldn’t tell anyone,” she insisted. “He isn’t like that.” 

“Sure,” Charlie laughed. “Is this the same Edward who you said wasn’t your boyfriend?” 

Becca frowned. “He isn’t.” 

“Most people don’t hold hands with their friends, Bella.” 

Becca clasped her hands together and pulled her legs up into the seat. “Well, maybe most people just have the wrong friends.” 

Still, she glanced out of the window, surprised by Charlie’s interest in her life, and perhaps a little bit by how much she wished that Edward actually was her boyfriend. Despite how bizarre the situation was developing, she did like the idea of stability that Edward brought with him. He cared about what she had to say, and he was interested in hearing her opinions, which was something she hadn’t had in a while. 

Charlie turned off onto a much smaller road. She could see in the distance that a dull red house with a wooden wheelchair ramp had the lantern porch light on. The truck’s headlights glinted against two cars in the yard as Charlie turned into the driveway. Already, as he’d heard the sounds of the truck’s engine, a boy was poking his head out of the front door. 

The boy was halfway to the truck by the time Charlie cut the engine. 

“Hey, Jake,” Charlie called as he opened the door. 

Becca blinked in surprise. _This_ was Jacob Black? He was so young. Perhaps fifteen or sixteen, he looked to be a freshman in high school or not very far from it. He had long hair tied back into a ponytail and was not altogether bad-looking; Becca could tell that, within a few years, he would likely grow to be quite beautiful. 

Charlie threw the keys into Jacob’s hands. Becca quickly exited the truck and followed after him. 

“Jake, you remember Bella?” Charlie said. 

Jacob held his hand out for her to shake and Becca took it. She was surprised—none of the freshmen she’d ever worked with had voluntarily tried to shake her hand before. It had to be even stranger considered she was a teenager now. 

“Not really,” Jacob said. “Nice to meet you, Bella.” 

He smiled at Becca. He had a large, goofy smile that made Becca smile, too. She liked him immediately, even though she hadn’t been planning to. He had an easygoing demeanor that made it easy to do so, and that much was already evident just within moments of meeting him. 

Charlie laughed and clapped Jacob on the back, leading the way towards the house. “Let’s see what your dad’s up to.” 

Becca made sure to stick close to Charlie, not interested in entertaining Jacob just yet. She knew that eventually, he would likely come to play a larger role in this universe, but she didn’t know that she was ready for that. Jacob held the front door open for them. A man, who could have only been Billy Black, Jacob’s father, was sitting in the corner in a wheelchair. He had a book open in his lap, but he closed it as they all stepped inside. The nighttime news was playing on an older TV in the corner. 

“We can’t stay long,” Charlie said as he walked towards the older man. They shook hands and Charlie fell onto the couch beside Billy’s chair. 

Becca was surprised by how homey the room looked. The walls were covered in family portraits in mismatched golden and silver frames. The living room furniture was mostly beige-colored, but there was a red afghan over the couch. 

“That’s alright,” Billy said. His voice was deep and his face was weathered. “I’m expecting Rebecca to call any time now. The time difference sure does make it tough these days.” 

Becca jolted at the sudden mention of her name. Her name wasn’t unpopular, by any means. But what were the odds that someone she would have to interact with would have the same one here? She didn’t remember anyone with the name in the Twilight books but judging by Charlie’s reaction and the tone that Billy spoke in, by deduction, Rebecca was most likely one of Billy’s other children.

“That’s right,” Charlie nodded. “Where is she now? Still in Hawaii?” 

“No, Japan. Solomon has a competition out there. Seventeen-hour time difference.” 

Charlie’s whistled, and his eyes widened. “And is she liking it?” 

Billy’s eyes twinkled. “You know Becca. She likes traveling. She couldn’t stand to stay in this small place.” 

Becca didn’t miss the way that both men looked over at her, nor did she miss Jacob’s near-constant glances, but she pretended to be otherwise involved in a careful examination of the pictures on the wall as they spoke of what the Rebecca girl and another girl—Rachel—were up to. Rebecca must have been one of the two girls that showed up pictured next to Jacob. They were twins, it seemed. 

“Jake, go ahead and get the keys and title to the Camry,” Billy said after the conversation faded. “They’re on the table.” 

As Jacob left the room, Charlie groaned and patted his stomach. “I sure am bushed.” 

“You said you have to work tomorrow?” 

“I have to drive up to Port Angeles.” Charlie shook his head. “Eight o’clock appointment. This situation has stirred up a lot of trouble. People don’t seem to know what to do with themselves.” 

“Do they ever?” Billy asked quietly. He shook his head, his voice grave. His gaze flickered to Becca’s before reaching Charlie’s face again. “This all sounds fairly dangerous, Charlie. And you’re sure you don’t want to get our police involved?” 

Becca’s lips were in a tight line, and she dug her hands into her pockets, standing off to the side. 

“No,” Charlie sighed. “I’m hoping tomorrow will be the last of it.” 

Billy nodded, a peculiar expression on his face—he didn’t seem to think tomorrow would be the last of it. Becca examined his face, leaning against the wall. He must know that they were vampire attacks. Or, at the very least, he suspected that they were. 

Jacob returned, carrying an old, folded paper in one hand and a silver key in the other. Now that she could see him in the full light of the house, Becca was certain that he was younger than she thought. Sixteen would be pushing it. 

“Jacob looked it over for you this afternoon,” Billy said. “Changed the oil and everything. You should be good to go.” 

Becca’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. So, Charlie wasn’t selling the truck back to Billy, but trading it? 

“I really appreciate this, Billy. It seems Bella here forgot how to drive stick shift,” Charlie said, shaking his head. He leaned in to whisper, “I think she just thought it was out of style, though.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. Billy and Charlie laughed. 

“I could teach you,” Jacob offered, his eyes lighting up. “I already know how to drive stick.” 

Becca grinned at him, even though she knew she would never willingly seek him out for his help. If she ever did need to learn to drive a manual, she’d much rather reach out to Alice who had offered on her first day in Forks. But Jacob was easygoing, and she appreciated it. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that, Jake,” Charlie said, shaking his head. He smiled at him, though, and stood up, punching Billy on the shoulder. “You still up for fishing on Sunday?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Billy promised. “You bring the beer and I’ll bring my company.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes. He took the keys and title from Jacob, then nodded at Becca. “Let’s go, kid. I’m beat.” 

“Bye, Charlie,” Billy called. His eyes softened as he looked at Becca. “Bye, Bella. I sure hope this car works out better than the truck.” 

Bella turned to smile at him before following Charlie outside. While this meeting hadn’t gone bad, she was delighted that it was over. The next time she met them, at least she'd know what to expect. 

“You got another car?” Becca waited to ask until they had already waved goodbye to Jacob and were halfway across the yard. 

Charlie laughed as they reached the car. It was a sedan; she couldn’t tell what color in the lack of lighting. “Did you think we were going to walk home, kid?” 

Becca frowned. She should have realized that they were taking only one car from the beginning and that there would have been no way for them to get back. 

“But I thought you didn’t want me driving right now?” 

“I didn’t. I don’t. But Billy convinced me that it was safer if you had your own way of traveling, and he talked with Harry Clearwater. Harry knew the guy selling this car, so they had Jake look it over.” Charlie said as he got into the car. “You remember Harry, don’t you?” 

The inside smelt of tobacco and peppermint. Becca didn’t remember Harry Clearwater, at least, not in the way Charlie meant, so she shrugged and nodded. 

The radio was on already, playing some pop station with a song Becca didn’t know the name of but had already heard several times. The engine was much quieter, purring in the background as Charlie backed out of the driveway and onto the road. 

With Charlie leaving for work the next day, and Edward gone on a trip, she knew the day would be quiet. She would spend the time finishing up the work she’d missed and preparing for class on Monday. And she knew that Edward was right—she would, inevitably, end up enrolling in philosophy with him. 

Yet as they reached the outskirts of Forks, one greater question struck her: why was Edward so insistent on this class? He didn’t strike her as someone who took great pride in his philosophical knowledge. If it was for her benefit, why not suggest psychology? Or sociology? Or even child development? 

Perhaps she would also dedicate time on Saturday to finally firing up that ancient computer in Bella’s room and learning what she could about the field of philosophy. 

She brightened at the idea of the new car, though. Charlie likely wouldn't mind her venturing out to the Forks grocery store, so at least she'd have that to look forward to. All she had to do was find a good CD and it would almost be like driving around aimlessly back home. 

The future had never seemed so close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day later than I'd planned, but here we are! I recently started reading Tolstoy, and it's kept me busy :) I swear, I always try to keep these chapters ~4000 words, but they always end up either at or longer than 5,000! 
> 
> Next chapter will finally be college!!! I'm so excited about it. Kudos to anyone who can figure out where this whole philosophy nonsense is going ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and showing your support. :) I hope that you all have a nice Valentine's Day if you celebrate it! I'll be spending the day with Anna K. and Vronksy, which I'm not altogether unexcited about! Anyway, I will see you all with another update on Wednesday if not before. 
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe! Take care ❤️


	18. The Knot

Though Becca had planned for a quiet weekend, this reality had other plans. 

On Saturday, she went shopping to the grocery store and stocked up on everything she knew how to make—which was still quite limited, unfortunately. Using the money Charlie delegated for food, Becca bought an assortment of canned goods and soups. It had been an easy adjustment, getting used to driving again after two months of riding with others. She’d kept the radio on a pop station, and though she only knew a few of them, she enjoyed it nonetheless. 

She spent the rest of the evening until Charlie came home catching up on laundry and doing the remainder of her schoolwork. 

When Charlie walked in though, interrupting her amid browning the ground beef, Becca knew immediately that something was wrong. 

He entered the house so quietly that she hadn’t heard him over the sizzling of the pan, and when she was turned around, startled, due to his sudden presence in the kitchen, she saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and that he was slouching. 

Becca's eyes widened. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing you need to worry about Bells,” Charlie muttered, falling into one of the open seats and putting his head in his hands. 

She frowned and turned off the stove. “Did something happen today?” 

“The better question,” he answered. “Is what _didn’t_ happen today?” 

Her frown deepened as she took the meat off of the stove and drained the grease, then poured it back into the pot to season it. Charlie listened to the clatter of the metal but didn’t speak. He rubbed his face absentmindedly with his hands. 

Becca waited for him to speak as she heated the sauce, but he didn’t. 

“What happened?” she pressed. “Did more people die?” 

“Just one,” he said. 

Becca wondered what was wrong with her that hearing that one person had died was relieving. She stirred the sauce, thinking about what she should say. She’d been trained on handling grief—all social workers were—but seeing Charlie so distraught had her at a loss for words. 

“He was my friend,” Charlie admitted, his voice cracking. “They found his body in the river. They think he drowned, but I’m not so sure.” 

Becca stilled, goosebumps flaring up all over her body. Out of habit, she looked out of the window. It was past dusk, but it was so foggy that she couldn’t see anything anyway. She reached over and pulled the deep red curtains closed, then turned to face him. “Did I know him?” 

“No. He lived out in Beaver, up near Lake Pleasant.” 

“Do you still think it’s an animal that’s attacking them?” 

“I’m not sure what I think anymore. Bella,” he said, glancing at her. He was more tired than she’d originally thought—the circles under his eyes were deep. “I want you to promise me that you’ll keep the door locked and not go off anywhere by yourself.” 

Becca knew that the locked doors didn’t offer the same sort of protection that Charlie thought they did. But if it gave him peace of mind, that was all that mattered. “I promise.”

Charlie held eye contact for a moment longer, then put his head back down on the table. Becca felt her body turn cold as she went back to cooking.

* * *

Charlie took the day off on Sunday—only because his deputies forced him to. That morning he offered to stay home with her, but she insisted he go fishing with Billy as he’d promised. She was becoming increasingly worried about Charlie’s mental health. He was working long, grueling hours, and she didn’t think that he was used to it, not to mention his newfound grief. The fishing would help him maintain stability.

She had to finish reading a novel for English class anyway, and it was going to take her hours. 

To break up the reading, after making a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, she called Jessica, who was all too eager to give her details about the dance with Mike. Mike had kissed Jessica, three times, and they were officially dating. Becca was surprised by how excited the news made her; she genuinely liked that Jessica was happy. Half an hour later, when Jessica reported yet another argument with her father, Becca gave her genuine advice and wished that she could tell the girl had more people to talk with than her.

It wasn't that she minded listening--it just concerned her that Jessica didn't seem to have many people who she confided in. 

It also wasn’t that Jessica had a bad home life. Her life appeared to be quite average. She didn’t get along well with her parents, but Becca hadn't met many teenagers who claimed they liked their parents all of the time, anyway. But Jessica, however, appeared to internalize everything her parents said to her more so than the average person. 

Becca was curious about what her parents were like. 

Throughout the day, once she’d hung up with Jessica, her fingers inched towards the phone. She desired to call Edward, to find out what he thought of the most recent death. She didn’t want to bother Charlie more by asking. But each time she almost picked up the phone and dialed his cellphone number, she convinced herself not to. If he wanted to talk to her, he would. He could call her number just as much as she could call his. 

And she would see him on Monday, anyway. They would spend the entire afternoon and evening together. There would be plenty of time for questions later. 

Instead, she called Angela and urged the girl to tell her about her date with Eric to the dance. They spent the next half hour talking about Angela’s family. Becca laughed at Angela’s tale of her twin brothers at church that morning—they had traded places and pranked their Sunday school teacher. Then, she sobered right back up as Angela spoke about how difficult it was to have such younger siblings—it reminded her too much of her own brother Bennet. 

But she found herself interested in everything that Angela said. Along the way, both Jessica and Angela had become her real friends. 

This fascination with them also meant something else: she was becoming attached to the people of this world. 

And Becca wasn’t certain whether or not that was a good thing. It was easier—albeit not healthier—to close herself off. To be empathetic, but not involved. But she liked these people. 

She liked this life. 

She didn’t want to die anymore.

* * *

Becca woke with a start in the middle of the night, forcing her eyes open. She’d been having a terrible dream—the vivid sort that you forget the moment you wake up. Something about being chased. Her heart was still racing, and her body was drenched in sweat. 

She rubbed her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of light. 

“Edward?” she mumbled, frowning. 

There was no response, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw that someone was standing at the edge of her bed. She scrambled to sit up, her vision blurred by the darkness. 

She turned and reached for the bedside lamp. When she looked back, there was nothing there. 

But she paled when she turned her head an inch to the left. 

Her window was wide open. 

The curtains were fluttering in the wind. 

She was going to be sick. 

Becca launched herself backward, catapulting off of the other side of the bed, and flung her door open, running all the way to Charlie’s room before she even had time to process her reaction. The hallway was dimly lit, and as she opened his door, Charlie woke up mid-snore. 

He coughed and sat up. “What is it?” 

“I think—” she was starting to hyperventilate; she had to calm herself down. Her heart was racing. “I think someone was in my room.” 

Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed, but he stumbled out of bed and moved towards her. He cleared his throat. “What?” 

“I woke up and my window was open.” Becca was shaking, her entire body on high alert. She could practically _feel_ the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “And I _swear_ I saw something move.” 

Charlie’s forehead creased. “Are you sure you didn’t just fall asleep with your window open?” 

“I’m positive,” she frowned. “I don’t ever sleep with it open.” 

Charlie seemed to see something genuine in her features, for he got up and led the way back to her room. He spent several minutes staring out of her open window. Over his shoulder, Becca saw that there was nothing but the dark street below, lit by the sole streetlight. It was dead silent outside except for the rustling of the wind. 

“There’s nothing out there, Bella,” Charlie said. But even so, he closed her window and made sure to triple-check that it was locked before pulling the curtains tightly in front of it. He then checked her closet, underneath the bed, and the empty space beneath her desk. 

“Are you sure?” Becca said. 

Somewhere in between alerting Charlie and now, she’d begun biting at her nails. She’d bitten her thumbnail to the quick. It pulsed in pain, but she was so energized she probably would have had no trouble sprinting all of the way to the high school. 

Standing there, she was reminiscent of being twelve years old again. One night, after watching a Charles Manson documentary with her best friend at the time, she'd dreamed about him hiding in her closet. She had been way too old to think those sorts of things were real, but on the brink of adolescence, she had found herself just as frightened as a kindergartner. She’d woken her real dad up and had him search the whole area at two o'clock in the morning--a story she had recounted to her, again and again, on every holiday and every birthday. 

Charlie gestured around the room. “Where else do you think someone would be?” 

The room was tiny, just mere feet between each piece of furniture. If someone was in the room, they would have seen them already. 

“The bathroom?” she guessed. 

Charlie frowned but took her concern seriously. He led the way to the bathroom, flicking on the hallway light as they went. He searched the cabinet, behind the shower curtain, and even, just for kicks, behind the toilet. 

Becca considered that it wasn’t the brightest move to claim she saw someone in her room to a very human Charlie. Charlie didn’t even keep his gun upstairs—he kept it hanging up next to the front door. The brightest move would have been to go downstairs to the phone and call Edward, demanding he come over. Which she would have done—had she owned a cellphone. But Becca had never considered herself to be a particularly ballsy person; at the very least, not ballsy enough to stand in the middle of a dark kitchen after she swore she'd seen something in her room at night to call a boy. 

“What time is it?” Charlie muttered, scratching his neck as he turned back to face her. 

Becca stepped into her room and glanced at the clock. “Five forty-six.” 

Charlie grunted. He sighed. “I think I’m going to go ahead and get ready for work. Do you want to go and have breakfast at the Lodge?” 

Becca nodded without thinking. She probably wouldn’t have on any morning, but she felt bad for waking up Charlie. She would also take almost any opportunity to get out of the house. She didn’t care how desperate she seemed—she would beg Edward to continue to stand guard outside her window if he was as opposed as he seemed to be to staying inside her room. 

As she went back to her room to find clothes, she couldn’t help herself from staring at the black curtains. Shuddering, Becca considered how much of a fool she was to ever venture out there alone, especially at three o’clock in the morning. How could she have been so stupid?

* * *

Becca had already told Angela the night before that she’d now be driving herself to school, so Charlie dropped her off that morning after breakfast. Becca had decided she would catch a ride with Edward later. It made the most sense—their first class would begin an hour after the high school let out, anyway.

Breakfast had been nice. Charlie had seemed to declare to himself that Becca had simply forgotten to close her window before sleeping. Becca just tried not to think about it as they shared a stack of pancakes. She distracted herself by forcing Charlie to tell stories of his teenage years. The morning, despite all of the terror that had unfolded, reminded her of being with her real dad. They’d gotten breakfast together on several occasions, content to overload themselves with carbohydrates before a long hike. 

“Be careful, Dad,” Becca called to Charlie as she got out of the police cruiser. 

“You too, Bells,” he called back. “Have fun in college.” 

Charlie found himself hilarious, so he was still laughing as he pulled out of the parking lot. As soon as Becca was away from Charlie, and was unable to use him as a distraction, the truth of the events resurfaced. She was still rattled. 

She needed to find Edward. 

But Charlie had dropped her off earlier than her usual arrival time, and not even Jessica or Angela had gotten there yet. Becca toyed with the idea of using one of the payphones on the side of the school to call Edward’s cellphone, but she wasn’t certain if he’d be with his siblings, and she didn’t want to try it. 

Her backpack in tow, she walked towards the cafeteria. The school served a small breakfast each morning, and she entered the sparsely crowded room, hoping that she would see at least one person she knew. But unfortunately, it was mostly freshman; none of the upperclassmen got there early. Becca knew by the way their eyes followed her, that any of them would have been glad to have her sit at their table. They would use her sitting with them as the validity of their popularity. 

She sat at an empty table as far away from the others as she could find. She pulled the English novel she was supposed to finish, My Antonia, and forced herself to read. She’d never heard of it before, but it was perhaps the dullest novel she’d ever read. 

Becca had more trouble concentrating than usual. She propped her legs up on one of the stools and tried to get past how boring it was. Outside of the window, it had begun raining. She was more grateful than ever that the rain had returned—at least this week would bring a sense of normality, whatever that meant in this world. 

Still, the truth continued to circulate through her mind. 

Someone had been in her room. Someone had opened the window. Becca knew that she never slept with it unlocked, and she certainly knew that she never slept with it open. It was a habit; she’d grown up in the inner-city. 

She remembered, over a week ago, how she’d seen that same flash of light in her room. Edward had sworn it wasn’t him. He’d also sworn that it wasn’t a vampire—that he would have smelt whoever it was. But she knew that this time she had not imagined it. 

“Becca?” 

She jumped, looking over her shoulder, and sighed. Her body relaxed. 

It was Edward. 

Finally. 

He sat down in the seat across from her. Today he was wearing a light blue beanie, which he’d yet to take off. It contrasted with the ginger tones of his hair. He had the black backpack with him again, and he held it in his lap. Folding his hands in front of him, he raised an eyebrow at her. 

“This is new,” he commented. “I don’t usually find you in the cafeteria. Angela didn’t drive you?” 

She shook her head. “I’m just glad that you found me here.” 

“Why?” He took the beanie off as he spoke, placing it folded on the table. “Not that I’m not flattered, but why?” 

Becca closed her book and shoved it into her backpack. “You weren’t in my room earlier, right?” 

He stared at her. “Of course not.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

She shivered. Somehow, even though she’d known that Edward, at least, _this_ Edward wouldn’t be hanging out in her room without her permission, it somehow made it even worse that it wasn’t him. Even if Edward was creeping on her, she’d much rather it was him than someone she didn’t know. 

“Were you outside?” 

“No. Emmett and I just got back about an hour ago. Why?” 

She took a deep breath. “Someone was in my room. And my window was open.” 

Perhaps a dozen emotions flickered across his face before his expression evened out. He stared at her blankly. “What?” 

“I woke up to them standing there. I didn’t see who it was—just that it was someone. I even woke Charlie up. That’s how scared I was. I don’t ever wake up Charlie.” 

“Becca…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Are you _sure_?”

She frowned. “Do you think I’m lying?” 

“Not at all. But remember how I told you that night I found you in the woods that we thought that someone was in the woods? I have my family keeping an eye on the area when I’m not there.” 

Becca didn’t know whether to feel flattered or stalked. “Who was there last night?” 

“Esme,” Edward said, watching her face. Becca was careful to keep her face straight and even. “You haven’t met her yet, but I’ve spoken about her briefly. She’s my mother.” 

Becca made a face, though it wasn’t intentional. She had hoped it had been Emmett…he would keep her safe. Or Jasper. Jasper looked ferocious enough to scare anything off. “And your family…they’re only out there when you’re not?” 

“Yes. It isn’t what you think,” he said. “Or maybe it is, actually—I don’t know what you think. But our senses are quite powerful. We don’t stand directly beneath your window or even near your house. We just need to be within a relative distance to sense if there’s a creature present.” 

“So that night that you found me in the woods—” 

“I wasn’t stalking you,” he said firmly. He shrugged. “We can sense when our kind is near. I heard you stumbling around in the dark, and I didn’t like the idea of you being near enough to whatever was in the woods.”

Becca fumbled with her book in the center of the table. “But still, Edward. If your mother wasn’t close enough to my room, then maybe whatever was there got away.” 

Edward shook his head. “Not likely. I also know that Alice would have seen if someone tried to break into your room.” 

“Alice said she has trouble seeing me. And that you told her to stop looking into my future, anyway. She says it gives her headaches.” 

“Yes, but I know how her visions work. Something of this magnitude would alert her. Did your father believe you?” 

Becca sighed. “I played it off eventually and stopped persuading him to look. But he did at first, I think. Though now he’s accepted that I forgot to close the window before I went to sleep. I think it’s probably best that he isn’t poking around anyway; I don’t want him around a vampire.”

Edward frowned at this. “I’m fairly certain there wasn't a vampire in your room, Becca.” 

She frowned back at him. “You can’t know that. You haven’t even been in my room today.” 

The first bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Becca groaned. She now knew the truth—she might like the teenagers of Forks, but she _hated_ being in high school. She hated having a bell mark her schedule. She hated not having the freedom to go where she wanted and do what she wanted just because she had to fit the idea of an arbitrary schedule created years ago. 

Edward stood up, shoving his beanie into his jacket pocket. “You’re going to be late.” 

“But I won’t even see you until lunch,” Becca whined. “And I promised Jessica and Angela I’d sit with them.” 

“That’s good. I know they missed you,” he said. “Jessica thinks you’re a good friend. They both do.” 

Because she listened to their problems? Because she gave them honest advice and cheered them on when they needed it? She thought that she was on the other side of being an average friend, to be honest. 

“But I don’t _want_ to be a good friend today,” Becca sighed. “You don’t have to tell me—I already know how awful that sounds.” 

Edward just laughed, watching as she grabbed her things. 

Becca knew that she appeared childish for the second time that day, but honestly, she was still so freaked out by the ordeal that morning that she didn’t care how immature she was being. Edward Cullen, for whatever bizarre reason, made her feel safe and ultimately, like she had a reason for existence. Furthermore, while she knew this was unhealthy, it was even unhealthier to continuously feel unsafe and not have a reason for existing. 

And quite frankly, Becca had gone so long without wanting to exist, without wanting to live her life, that this sudden newfound burst of livelihood was so unexpected that all she wanted to do was cling to it. 

“Come on,” Edward said, holding out his hand. “We’ll have hours this afternoon to talk. I’ll buy you dinner.” 

Becca frowned but took his hand anyway. So this is what they were doing? Holding hands now? “I don’t want you to buy me dinner.” 

“Coffee, then? There’s a nice little shop in Port Angeles. We could drive up after philosophy class.” 

It did sound nice. Sitting in a café somewhere in Washington, the rain pouring outside the window over the greenery, Edward Cullen across from her as she talked about all her recent woes plaguing her life. 

But a terrible thought struck her—there would never be enough time with him. They were always getting interrupted by the obligations of high school or the responsibilities of being a teenager. She could sit and talk to him for days without getting tired of him. But they never had days. 

They always had only hours. 

She clutched his hand even tighter. 

He noticed and looked down at her as he held the door to the courtyard open with his free hand. “Are you alright?” 

“Just worried, I guess.” 

“Worried?” 

Becca pulled her hood on over her head. She expected Edward to let go of her hand so that he could do the same, but he didn’t. He only held her hand as tightly as she was holding his and led the way through the rain, the water dampening his hair. 

“I mean, honestly Edward, you can’t tell me that if you were human and you woke up in the middle of the night to someone standing at the edge of your bed, that you wouldn’t also be freaked out, could you?” 

He waited to speak until they reached the English building. A few students on the inside of the hallway who Becca recognized but didn’t know their names openly stared at them, their eyes darting down to Edward and Becca’s interlocked hands, but none of them spoke. 

Edward waited until Becca looked up at him. He was leaning against the lockers, his gaze strong. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Becca. You know that.” 

“But you weren’t there, Edward. Someone was in my room, I swear.” Her heart began pounding so fast she was having trouble keeping her breathing even. “I know you don’t believe me, but you weren’t there. I could have died, and you wouldn’t even have known. Think about how unfair that would be—my last conversation with you would have been about seeing you on Monday, and I would have never seen you again!” 

Edward stared at her for a very long time. With his index finger, he tilted her chin up so that she was looking directly at him. His eyes were so earnest, so deep, that she had trouble attempting to guess what he might have been thinking.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” Edward murmured. With the palm of his hand, he cupped her chin, running the tip of his thumb over her bottom lip. 

Becca thought she might stop breathing. “That I died, and that you didn’t find out until after?” 

“That you think it would be unfair for you to die,” he whispered, his breath spreading across her face. She closed her eyes. “I agree wholeheartedly. I’m just glad that you’ve come around to the idea. Not wanting to die is an accomplishment that you shouldn’t take lightly.” 

She blinked at him. Once. Twice. Three times. His words had stumped her again. 

Edward smiled. “It means you’re healing, Becca, whether you realize it or not. Now come on, the bell rings in thirty seconds, and Mr. Masen won’t be happy if you’re tardy.” 

Before he herded her into the classroom, he stooped down and kissed her on the cheek. His lips were cold, but not much more so than she’d imagine those of anyone who had been out in the cold would be. He smiled at her once more, then gently pushed her into the classroom. 

As Becca avoided eye contact with Mr. Masen and hurried to her seat, she also avoided Mike’s look of disbelief and Angela’s genuine smile. Becca pressed her hand to her cheek and tried not to think about how nice it would feel for his lips to actually kiss her.

* * *

Jessica was waiting for her in trigonometry. Her hair was straight again, and her eyes were heavily lined in black eyeliner. 

“You lied to me,” Jessica accused, narrowing her eyes as Becca sat down in the seat next to her. 

Becca looked at her in disbelief. “How?” 

“You were holding hands with,” she leaned in so that she could whisper. “ _Edward Cullen_ this morning. Edward Cullen! You’re totally dating. Did you skip school with him on Friday? Have you been to his house? Is it as creepy as people say it is?” 

Becca flipped her notebook open to a clean page. “Ever hear of the Bechdel test before, Jess?” 

Jessica frowned. “No.” 

“It’s this test in books, TV shows, and movies to judge whether two women talk about more than boys.” 

“And?” 

“We’re failing the Bechdel test, Jess.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “We can talk about all of that stuff later. I told you all about me and Mike! What happened with you and Edward? Did you see him this weekend?” 

Becca sighed. Mr. Varner seemed to be several minutes from starting class, rifling through a pile of papers. “He came over on Friday to bring me some work I missed. I saw him this morning.” 

“You were _holding hands_ with him this morning,” Jessica corrected. “When did that happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Becca shrugged. 

“Did he kiss you?” 

“On the cheek,” she muttered. She flushed without meaning to, and kept her eyes trained on her notebook in front of her. She was acting more and more like a damn seventeen-year-old girl by day. 

Jessica squealed. Mr. Varner looked up from the lesson he was planning and glared at her. Jessica ignored him and leaned closer to Becca. “So, you _like_ him?” 

“I mean, I like talking to him.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “That’s the same thing.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes. But he must like you too, Bella. His family has been here for two years now and hasn’t even looked at a girl.” 

Becca blushed deeper. There were other explanations to account for his behavior—not being able to read her mind, for one, but also her being from the future. She’d just told him about the fact that he existed in a fictional universe not even five days ago. But if she looked at it from Jessica’s perspective, she would also have to admit that it did seem like Edward liked her. Buying her chocolate when she didn’t feel well, talking to her about whatever she wanted to talk about. He had all but fully admitted it to her. 

And Edward was right. 

In just six weeks, she’d decided that life was worth living. For several reasons, really. Life in Forks was calm for the most part—the most recent deaths withstanding. It was idyllic, even. Especially now that she had a car. While she didn’t like the mundane schedule of high school life, she would be content to live here for a while. Maybe even forever. There were still several things to come to terms with, namely whoever or whatever had been in her room, and whatever it was that was going to happen after she died here. 

But she was happy. Completely, perfectly, incandescently, happy. That had to count for something. 

Why would she ever even want to return to a world where she was almost twenty-five, unemployed with no clue of what to do in the future, living in her teenage bedroom? Who knew what could have happened in the months since she’d been gone! She was much more content to be a teenager in Forks with Edward Cullen. 

It was almost like she was going through the 13 Going on 30 plot in reverse.

Mr. Varner had begun the lesson, teaching them in-depth about the unit circle. Jessica and Becca passed notes back and forth during the class so that Jessica could catch Becca up on all of the gossip that she had missed. They didn’t speak again until they were walking through the courtyard on the way to Spanish. 

“I’m having a sleepover this Saturday,” Becca said as they passed the cafeteria. “Will you come?” 

Jessica looked over at her, eyes widening. “Uh, yes? Of course. Is it just us?” 

“Well, I was going to invite Angela. And Rosalie and Alice.” 

Jessica’s blue eyes bugged out, and she came to a full stop, halting Becca by putting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re inviting the _Cullens?_ ” 

“Well, yeah. Alice is great, and I think Rosalie will have fun.” 

Neither Alice nor Rosalie had said yes, exactly—well, at least, Edward hadn’t told her if they had. But Becca was certain that they both would. 

Jessica’s lips were pursed. Becca could only imagine what was going through her head. She knew that Jessica would rather die than give up on the chance to spend actual time with the Cullens. But she also knew the threat of having a sleepover with people you didn’t know was very real, and the Cullens didn’t exactly have the reputation of being the nicest people around. 

“I’ll come,” Jessica promised as they began walking again. “But only if you invite Lauren.” 

Becca all but groaned. Most of the teenagers in Forks she could deal with, but Lauren was another story. Even though Becca had come to like most of them, she still couldn’t find anything she liked about the girl—she did seem quite vapid. 

“Lauren? Why?” 

“It would be good for her.” 

Becca frowned. “I thought you didn’t like her.” 

“I never said that.” Jessica insisted. “She’s difficult sometimes, but she’s my friend.” 

Jessica and Lauren had a strange friendship. Jessica bitched about Lauren almost daily, and the only time they hung out together was when Angela or Becca, now that Becca had moved here, were busy. But Jessica and Lauren had been friends since fifth grade, and in a small town, it seemed that they had some sort of bond that couldn’t be easily broken. 

“Fine,” Becca sighed. “I’ll invite her at lunch.” 

The two of them filed into the Spanish classroom. As Mrs. Goff lectured them about the imperfect tense, Becca planned out the weekend. Her real birthday, which, if she was in her other life, she’d be turning twenty-five, was on Sunday—March 27th. She would have the girls come over on Saturday and stay until Sunday, long enough to watch the premiere of Grey’s Anatomy with her. She had to admit—as great as she was beginning to feel, she was going to feel even better when she existed in the same universe as Derek Shepherd. 

Angela had already said yes; Becca had asked her on the way to government. Becca knew that Alice would come no matter what, and she was sure that the invitation had piqued Rosalie’s interest, which would hopefully be enough for her to come as well. 

Lunch passed unbearably slow. Lauren committed to going to the sleepover and even smiled at Becca, which was an improvement. Edward sat across the cafeteria with his siblings, only daring to glance in Becca’s direction way once. Alice caught Becca’s eye and waved, making some sort of hand motion that Becca couldn’t understand. Even Rosalie smiled at her. 

It was progress. 

When the bell rang for biology, Becca excused herself from the group, ignored Jessica’s look, and nearly ran across the room to where Edward stood waiting for her. By the time she reached him, she knew the truth. 

She was infatuated with him. And whether it was a bad thing or not, she _felt_ like it was a good thing. 

So, she would continue to cling to it. For now, at least. 

“Hi,” he said smiling. He lifted his hand and pushed a stray strand of hair from in front of her eyes. 

“Hey,” Becca grinned back, her cheeks flushing in response. “How’s your day been?” 

“Rather uninteresting, to be honest.” 

“Not enough six-hundred-page novels for you to read?” 

“Actually, the novels I read on Friday were closer to an average of nine-hundred-pages.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. Edward grinned and held out his hand for her. She took it, intertwining their fingers. She knew that everyone was staring at them—the Cullens, Jessica and company, and all—but she didn’t even glance in any of their directions. 

She was finally happy. That was all that mattered. 

Neither of them spoke as they walked through the drizzle to the science building. More people openly stared at them now, but neither of them acknowledged it. Becca had trouble with the idea that Edward could hear all of their thoughts, too. She would have to remember to ask him about it later—she was curious just how overwhelming it was. He held the door for her, as usual, and led the way to the science classroom. 

The classroom, which had such loud chatter that Becca could hear it as soon as they entered the building, quieted down as soon as they entered the room. Even Mr. Banner stared at them. 

Becca turned bright red and she got the sense that if Edward could have, he would have too. As they each pulled their respective lab stools out, the room was so quiet they could hear the metal screeching against the floor. 

Somewhere in the back of the room, Mike Newton coughed.

Her cheeks flamed, but she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling down at the lab table.

“Alright, well,” Mr. Banner clapped his hands together. He crossed the room and shut the door. “Since we’re all here early, there’s no need to wait for the bell, is there?” 

The class broke the silence by groaning. Mr. Banner began a very in-depth presentation on the matrix of the mitochondrion that would take up all of her brain cells to concentrate on, thus ending any thoughts she had about the upcoming classes at Peninsula. She still had to, after all, maintain an A average in all of her classes to attend the dual enrollment courses. 

Becca leaned forward, began copying the notes off the board, and willed the day to go by faster.

* * *

For once, she had a pleasant experience in gym. Well, either it was indeed pleasant, or her mood was so uncharacteristically elevated that she didn’t mind it. They ran a mile, then played tennis. She partnered with Mike, and their team won two out of three games. 

But even so, Becca was ecstatic when the day was over. It meant that she was so much closer to taking college classes. She took extra time changing into the outfit she’d packed in a hurry that morning—before she and Charlie had left for breakfast—and took the time to fix her hair the best that she could. 

By the time she left, the gym was mostly empty. Coach Clapp was in his small office, eighties music playing faintly through the open door. Becca jogged across the floor until she found Edward waiting for her just outside. It was drizzling, as it usually was, and he’d put on the light blue beanie again. He looked straight out of some sort of fashion magazine, leaning up against the red bricks. 

“How long do we have until classes?” Becca said, skipping over to him. 

He checked his watch. “About half an hour. Are you ready to go?” 

Becca beamed at him and led the way across the parking lot. It was mostly vacant, only the occasional student staying after for tutoring or athletics loitering around. She got another rush of excitement when she realized she would be able to drive herself to school the next day. Maybe, if Edward was serious about going to Port Angeles after their classes were over, they could even spend some time buying CDs. 

Surely there had to be some artists who she liked. 

“You look so happy,” Edward laughed, getting into the driver’s seat. He turned the heat on, though she hardly needed it, and put the radio on low. 

“I am very happy,” Becca said. “We’re in college now.” 

Edward laughed again, backing out of the parking lot and onto the road. “I’ve already been to college.” 

“Me too,” she rolled her eyes. She noticed the song that was playing for the first time and realized that she liked it. It was in French, but she didn’t recognize it. “What song is this?” 

“Qui De Nous Deux,” he said. _Which of us two._

Becca didn’t comment as she stared out of the window, listening to the music. The car smelt fresh, as always, and she leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the drops race past the same way she used to do as a child. Forks looked more beautiful than usual. 

Edward took a route she was unfamiliar with, his car speeding down an empty road. The sky was gray and cloudy above them. He pulled into a small parking lot with a half dozen other cars parked out front. 

“Here we are,” he said, parking in the farthest space from the door. She wondered why, but she didn’t ask. 

As she took in the scenery, Becca’s eyebrows furrowed. This was not what she had imagined. The building was made of white paneling, trimmed in red. An American flag in the front. It was smaller than even the Forks High School’s cafeteria, which was the largest building on the FHS campus. But she saw the Peninsula College sign off to the right and knew that Edward wasn’t lying. 

She followed Edward out of the car and towards the entrance. 

“Well, it’s certainly no Ivy League, is it?” she muttered, planting her feet on the ground. 

Edward raised an eyebrow. He walked with his hands in his pockets. “Did you go to an Ivy League school?” 

Becca looked at him skeptically. 

“What?” he said defensively. “You’ve never told me where you went to college. You could have graduated from Yale or Harvard for all I know.” 

Becca snorted. “I went to TCNJ.” 

“TCNJ isn’t a bad school. They have a good business program,” Edward said knowingly, not missing a beat. “Also, a great accounting program.” 

She frowned. Her sister Lizzie had almost gone there for that very reason. “I know.” 

Edward just smiled in response. 

Becca’s boots scuffed against the pavement. Aside from the older cars she’d become accustomed to, there wasn’t much that would signify the time period she was in. There was a large ashtray filled with cigarette butts near the front of the building—the type she hadn’t seen since she was a child—but that was about it. 

As they reached the entrance, Edward paused with his hand on the door handle and turned to face her. “Are you ready?” 

Her smile came easy. 

Edward grinned back and held the door for her. She stepped inside and hoped that philosophy wouldn’t be too taxing—it was their first class, after all. They had poetry right after. 

And maybe, just maybe, with as insistent Edward was about taking philosophy, she might learn something important after all. 

Either way, she'd be learning something _new_ , and that was what she craved most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I checked yesterday and there are well over 500 kudos on this fic?! And over 300 comments?! Thank you SO much!!! I appreciate you all ❤️writing this story has truly been the saving grace of my 2021! 
> 
> This brings me to my second point--I hit 100k on this story, (with the unedited version of this chapter, so not reflected on ao3 yet) which has me SHOOK. I mean...it's not like I'm doing much else but working and writing this fic, but I cannot believe you all have actually put up with reading almost 100k of my writing. It seriously means so freaking much. 
> 
> Thirdly, I DID intend to include philosophy class in this chapter, but what I'm posting now is close to 7k words, so I made the decision to break it up. The next chapter should be up by Friday, but maybe Saturday (I have a very busy week ahead 😕). 
> 
> Take care, all of you 😊 thank you all so much again!!! I hope you have a GREAT night/day/whatever time of day it is when you read this. Stay safe and sane out there! 
> 
> Finally, I'm going to post the song from this chapter. It's really good! Most of the French music I listen to (Although I don't speak French, unfortunately...otherwise we'd have some KILLER French dialogue between Edward and Becca LOL) isn't out until 2012. But here's a link to the french song mentioned in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVW5qA7QLmw


	19. Philosophies

“How can I help you?” The middle-aged woman at the front desk asked as the glass door closed behind them. She was wearing a mustard-colored sweater and her dark hair was in French braids. Objectively, she was prettier than Bella Swan. Older, too.

Edward smiled at her. “We need the pass for our classrooms, please.” 

She looked skeptical. “And are you here for a _class?_ ” 

“Intro to philosophy at 3:30.” 

“And your names?” 

“Edward Cullen and…” he glanced down at Becca, who was standing a few feet behind him. “Isabella Swan.” 

The woman nodded and typed furiously on the keyboard of the archaic monitor in front of her. Her nails were long, and they clicked against the plastic. “I’ll be right back.” 

Becca had gravitated towards the back wall, which was made entirely of glass. They were at a slightly higher altitude than that of the high school. The window overlooked the forest, but she could see the Bogachiel River in the distance; with the fog descending on the water, it looked like a scene from a movie. Or, at the very least, one of those nature pictures Google used to give her every day. It made her wish she knew how to paint well—she’d love to capture the scene. Perhaps that was something she should try here. She’d never given much thought to attempting to paint before.

The river looked a dazzling shade of blue from where she stood, rippling against the shore like pixels on a screen. Becca made a note to go for a walk there soon. Maybe she could even convince someone to go canoeing with her. 

Then she remembered Charlie’s friend and grew solemn. Charlie would never allow it with the number of recent deaths—he barely liked the idea of her driving herself to school each morning.

She sighed. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She jumped; she hadn’t noticed that Edward was standing beside her until she saw his reflection in the glass. 

“It’s just so beautiful here,” she said, looking back at the canopy of trees. “Do you think it would be safe to go hiking? Outside of the forest near Charlie’s, that is.” 

He tilted his head to the side as if considering her question, and leaned against the glass to face her. He crossed his arms and looked down at her, smirking. “I suppose it depends on who you take with you, I suppose. Jessica Stanley? Unlikely.” 

“Angela Weber?” 

“Also unlikely.” 

“Mike Newton?” 

“Well, his family _does_ own the sporting good store. He probably knows how to survive a bear attack.” 

Becca smiled. “And if it isn’t a bear?” 

Edward raised his eyebrows. “I’d say that Mike Newton might be out of his wits, then.” 

Becca snorted. “And you would be better?” 

His teeth flashed in the light. “Exceptionally better.” 

She smiled, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes. Their banter was so light that she almost forgot about Charlie’s recent loss of a friend or the several other humans who had lost their life. When she and Edward were joking around, it was easy to forget about the fact that she’d been woken just hours before by some sort of _thing_ in her room. It felt so normal for the pair of them to joke about whether safety should be a concern or not. 

She shuddered just thinking about it.

“Seriously though,” she said, looking up at him. “Do you think it’s safe to go hiking?” 

He gazed down at her. His eyes looked light brown by the window, and she wished that she could take a picture of him, too. 

“I wouldn't let anything happen to you, Becca,” he promised. 

“And to Charlie?” 

It made her chest ache just thinking about it. Charlie might not have known his real daughter well enough to know that there was something different about her, but he did care about her deeply. That much was certain. He was as real as they came. Bella Swan was one lucky girl. Sure, Renee might not have been the ideal parent, but she still fiercely loved Bella. 

“I won't let anything happen to Charlie, either,” Edward vowed. His face was solemn. 

Becca considered how odd it was to have a safety guard. How many times, in her old life, had she not done something because of the threat of danger? Or even done something _because_ of the danger? How many times had she let the unknown possibilities keep her from doing what she wanted? 

The number of times she’d let the unknown keep her from even attempting to know what she wanted was astronomical. 

“We could go tomorrow, if you’d like,” Edward offered, noticing her change in mood. “After class. We could watch the sunset on the river.” 

“It’ll be sunny tomorrow?” she asked, her forehead creasing as she turned to fully face him.

“Only in the late afternoon. Minimally.” 

Becca was, at the moment, too scared to ask if he knew anything further about the deaths of those other humans. Perhaps because she suspected that he did; he would never be able to promise Charlie’s safety if he didn’t. But the thought of hiking was pleasing, especially when she considered that whatever was out there would not bother her while he was with her. She could be one with nature again. The Pacific Northwest was known for it, after all—she needed to be better about making sure that she was seeing everything that she could. 

“Here you are, Mr. Cullen,” the woman sang, returning in a much higher spirit than the one she’d left them in. They both turned to face her. She handed each of them a temporary ID card that would give them access to the computer room. “Do you know the way to the lecture hall?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Edward answered, smiling. He motioned for Becca to follow him and then took off down a side hallway, leaving the woman staring. 

“Thank _you,_ Mr. Cullen,” the woman called after them. 

Becca thought the woman's sudden behavior change was odd but didn’t comment on it as she followed Edward. The floor was dark green linoleum, and there were murals of evergreen trees on the walls—why anyone in Forks, Washington, who was already surrounded by so much vivid and realistic greenery, wanted to use painted trees as decorations, she didn’t know. Edward led the way down another hallway. They passed only one or two other people on the way, the echoes of their shoes the only sound. 

“How do you know your way around here so well?” Becca asked. 

Edward just grinned down at her and tapped his temple. 

Of course. It must be easy to find your way around anywhere when you could see it all clearly in your head. 

He came to a stop at the end of a hallway before a set of light wooden doors. It was marked Lecture 50, and Becca felt her heart begin to race. The day felt oddly symbolic to her—perhaps because it was the first time that she felt that she was truly acting of her own accord rather than in the canon events of Twilight that she remembered. Sure, there was the trip to Seattle, and there was the purchase of the car and the delayed trip down to the Reservation, but Becca felt like this was the biggest step of all. Both of the previous events had been led by others—Edward and Charlie, respectively. 

She’d chosen to do this on her own. Edward was just along for the ride. 

He wrapped his hand around the door handle and twisted it. There was a clicking sound, then he gestured with his free hand for her to walk inside first. 

It was very dark, but only long enough until Edward could flip the light switch. Becca blinked in the sudden bright light. It was an average-looking medium-sized lecture hall; about a hundred seats filled the area. There was no projector or giant screen that she was used to in her old lecture halls, but there was a large whiteboard that spanned the entire western wall of the room. Above the whiteboard was an analog clock displaying the time. 

Becca closed her eyes and breathed in deeply; the room smelt of books and cleaning supplies. It made her feel like she belonged. College—the last time in her life that she’d felt like she was racing towards developing a purpose.

It was more like she wanted her life to be. 

The room sloped downward towards the front, and Edward took the first step down the center aisle, then turned to face her. “Do you have a preference for where you’d like to sit?” 

Becca bit her lip. “Would it bother you if we sat in the back?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

She turned, leading the way this time, down the row at the very back. Had she been in sustainable agriculture, she probably would have chosen to sit nearer to the front. As it was, she had minimal interest in philosophy, and sitting at the back would allow for her to pay even less attention to what the professor was saying.

She told herself that she was only taking the class to humor Edward. 

The back wall was lined in portraits, all of them men and all of them white. They seemed to be benefactors to the college in some form or another, judging by the quality of both the portraits themselves and the frames. Their names were written in golden letters at the bottom of each frame: George Portis, William Ford, Jack Morris. Towards the other end of the row, she saw a very familiar fair-haired man. 

“Edward,” she said frowning, turning to look over her shoulder. He had followed her soundlessly, as usual. “Is that your dad?” 

She hadn’t needed to ask—his name was also written in the same gold letters. Carlisle Cullen. But she didn’t want confirmation; she wanted an explanation.

Edward understood as much. He scratched at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Uh…yeah. We like to donate where we can. It helps us establish a home, wherever we are.” 

"Oh," she frowned. "That's why the woman at the desk was so nice to you? She saw that Carlisle had donated money?" 

"That's correct." 

“Hm,” Becca said in response, her eyes tracing the man’s face. He looked even better in the portrait than he did in person, which was truly saying something. In the portrait, he didn't even look real--almost like an animated Disney prince. The camera had captured a gleam in his eyes and had panned down enough to capture the absurd number of letters following his name on his white coat. “Edward, how _old_ is Carlisle, exactly?” 

Edward’s smile was mocking. “You mean you don’t know?” 

She sighed. “I already told you—I don’t remember a lot of the details. I don’t know if Carlisle’s age was something even written in the book.” 

He was suddenly beside her. He pulled at a lock of her hair. 

“I know,” he smiled. “I’m just teasing you. 

Her breath caught in her throat. He was so carefree now—not that she was complaining. She just wondered what had caused the switch. Was it the fact that she had told him her secrets and he had told her his? Had that allowed for the change in atmosphere between them?

“Carlisle is likely three hundred and sixty-five, with a few years as a margin of error. Time wasn’t marked as accurately in the seventeenth century, but he’s fairly certain, through the process of deduction, that he was born in 1640.” 

Becca bit her lip. “And his human age?” 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “You mean his physical age?” 

She wanted to groan. Instead, she nodded. 

“He was around twenty-three when he died if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Becca’s eyes bulged out. She had to reach for one of the backs of the chairs for support. “Twenty-three?!” 

“Yes,” Edward frowned. “Is that a problem?” 

“I’ll be twenty-five on Sunday!” 

His frown deepened. “What’s your point?” 

“My point is that I’m _older_ than your father.” 

Edward snorted. He rolled his eyes, then dragged his hand through his hair. “Hardly, Becca.” 

“You don’t get to have an opinion,” she muttered. “That means his frontal lobe might not be fully developed, either.” 

Edward rolled his eyes. She frowned, then headed to the chair at the end of the row, slung her backpack to the floor, and sat down, pulling out the desk as she did. It was chilly inside, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. 

“Why?” Edward asked, gesturing with his hand. He sat down next to her. 

“I’m left-handed,” Becca frowned. “The only left-handed seats are usually on the aisles. It’s a pain. Right-handed people can be so inconsiderate. They take up all of the left-handed seats. I used to have to get to some of my more important lectures stupid early just so I could write in peace.” 

Edward smiled. “I know you’re left-handed. I meant, _why_ does it bother you that Carlisle is younger than you in terms of physical age?” 

She reached down and pulled out one of the notebooks she’d bought from the grocery store on Saturday. She tried to focus as she wrote the date carefully on the side of the page and centered a header at the top of the page. 

“Becca?” he prompted. 

She sighed and set her pen down. “I’m not sure I can explain it. I’m not sure I even understand why I’m upset.” 

“Why don’t you try to articulate it? That might help.” 

She stared down at the carpet. It was beige-colored, and there was a coffee stain right in the middle of the left side aisle. She knew that Edward was right, of course. Talking would help--though it was much easier said than done. 

“I guess it makes me realize how fleeting time is. I think for me, it’s odd because I read Twilight when I was twelve or thirteen years old. I felt like turning seventeen was very far away and turning twenty-three would take forever. Carlisle seemed like such a fatherly figure that it’s weird to imagine that I’m older than him. Makes me wonder what I’m doing with my life.” 

Edward raised his eyebrows. 

“Did,” she corrected. “Makes me wonder what I did with my life.” 

Edward continued to stare at her, waiting for her to continue. Becca just hung her head and picked up her pen, doodling daisies in the margin of the paper. 

“Anyway, I’m having the sleepover this weekend because of my birthday,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on the date she’d written. “My real one. Not Bella Swan’s.”

“I remember your birthday,” he answered. “I’ve already gotten your gift.” 

Her head swung round to face him, her eyes lighting up. “You did?”

Edward laughed, pleased. “Of course. But you’ll have to wait until after the sleepover. You said I wasn’t invited.” 

She huffed, and he laughed again, louder this time. “Speaking of that—did your sisters say yes?” 

“Alice did. I haven’t asked Rosalie yet, but Alice is sure that she’ll come as well.” 

“That’s good,” she muttered. 

They were both quiet again, nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the scratching of her pen against the paper as she filled in the flowers. 

“Have you ever considered,” Edward began. He leaned in towards her. “That you put too much weight on your purpose in life? On what you’re meant to be doing?” 

Becca frowned but didn’t answer. She bit her lip instead and began to draw a pine tree at the bottom of the paper. Her drawing skills were not abysmal, but they were not spectacular, either. 

“For instance, this is the third time you’ve mentioned having a purpose in life. For someone who has spent so many years studying psychology and sociology, you seem a bit hung up on this idea of having a concrete direction, a concrete reason, for being alive. Shouldn't the point be to just live?” 

Her good mood became suddenly sullied; her crisis had become existential. “Did you get that from a Lifetime movie?” 

“I’m serious. If you believe that you have a finite purpose in life, that you have minimal reasons for existing, then that explains everything.” 

She set her pen down and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that the future you think of, that you’ve been apparently preparing for your entire life, doesn’t exist. The future in your mind has never been real—it’s a projection of the now. There are infinite possibilities for how things will turn out, but if you try to make the outcome of those infinite possibilities a tiny little box where just a few of the wishes you desire exist, you will never be content.” 

Becca planted her feet firmly on the ground. She should have stuck with sustainable agriculture—she was sure at least one of the Cullens would have given her the money for it. Learning agriculture to help save the planet would be much more productive than spending all of this time in theory land. 

But there was also some truth to his words; even if she didn’t acknowledge it, her body did. Her collar had become red and hot, and her hands were sweaty. Edward was right and she knew it. 

Two guys entered from the same door she and Edward had, both dressed in the baggy fashion of the time. Both of them had black Jansport backpacks. They glanced at Becca and Edward and took seats in the middle of the room. Their conversation, about some zombie movie they'd seen over the weekend, wafted towards Becca and Edward.

“Why are you telling me this?” she finally asked, glancing at the clock. 

“You think I haven’t had time to grapple with existentialism? That I haven’t had time to think about what the point of all of this is?” he gestured around the room. “I’ve spent more years deliberating the point of existence than you’ve even been alive. Surely, you can admit you haven’t tried everything there is to try.” 

She frowned at him. “That’s a very rude thing to say.” 

“Is it? You spent only about a quarter of a century in existence and decided it’s too much for you. I've spent four times that, and you think I haven’t had enough of it? You told me within knowing me for two weeks that I’m depressed. Is living not enough to make us all that way?” 

Becca reached down and scratched at her ankle. An entire group of students entered—laughing and joking with each other. Numbly, she looked up at the clock. The class was about to start, and she didn’t entirely understand all that Edward meant. He had suddenly become irritatingly philosophical, and she was beginning to think that taking this class with him was going to be a huge mistake.

"Where is this coming from, Edward?" she mumbled. 

He didn't acknowledge her question. “You said that the future is worse than now, and I don’t doubt it from what you’ve described. However, Becca, I think you need to internalize that the way reality appears has a lot to do with a person's particular perspective.” 

Becca frowned. Frustrated, she tore the page out of her notebook, balled it up, and shoved it into her backpack. The room had become even more full of students, and the clock showed that they were only about a minute away from class starting. She flipped to a clean page and rewrote the date. 

“Are you done?” she asked calmly, raising her eyebrows and trying to think of the best way to approach the subject.

He shrugged. “More or less.” 

“You think that I haven’t considered that the reason my life felt awful was because of my _perspective_? That, after a whole degree in learning to help people, I wouldn’t consider _thinking differently_ to be an option?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you even understand how difficult it is to think differently?” 

His eyebrows furrowed at the sharpness of her tone, and his eyes searched hers. He looked hurt, upset, bothered; some sort of negative emotion she couldn’t quite place, but one that she wasn’t used to seeing from him. 

“That isn’t quite what I meant,” he muttered.

“What did you mean, then?” 

“Wouldn’t you agree that to confront our problems, we have to examine the cognitive distortions that enable those very problems?” 

“That's the main principle of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Sure.” 

“Well, my mind doesn’t work quite the same as yours. It’s even less malleable. I only mean to say that there is power in thoughts, and well, I know that better than most do.”

“Look, Edward,” Becca took a deep breath. “When it comes down to it, life is a scam. I know that the way in which we think about things affects our mood. Thoughts and moods are closely related. Even more likely, because the idea of mindfulness is very big in the future, I might know more about it than even you do. But if something is really and truly, objectively awful, no amount of changing your thought patterns is going to change the truth.” 

The corners of his mouth turned downward, deepening into the saddest frown she’d seen from him yet. 

“Why are you here then?” he whispered. 

“Excuse me?” 

“If you think life is a scam,” he clarified, leaning towards her, away from a guy who had sat down only two seats down from him. Edward cleared his throat and watched another pair of students walk in. “If you really and truly think that life is a scam, then why are you here? What are you doing? Do you think that you just arbitrarily ended up in this world? Your logic is all over the place, Becca.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “And how, exactly, do you reckon that my logic is all over the place?” 

“Seriously?” Edward laughed and her eyes narrowed. “You think that you need to have a specific reason for existence, but then you end up somewhere completely different than you intended, and you just accept it. That seems like irregular logic to me.” 

“I didn’t intend to go anywhere, so it would be difficult for me to end up somewhere I didn’t expect, seeing as I didn’t expect _anything_ ," she replied angrily. "And I have certainly not accepted it." 

“Really? It sure seems like you have to me. It seems like you’ve begun to settle in quite nicely to me.” 

“And there’s a problem with settling in?” 

He shrugged. “I think it’s a problem that you haven’t thought much about it. That you’ve just, and very willingly so, decided that your place in this life is permanent.” 

She gaped at him. She did not like him very much at the moment. “Perhaps the best question of all, Edward Cullen, would be why do you think this is the right time to ask me about all of this?” 

Edward opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the entrance doors to the lecture hall slamming against the wall. Becca jumped, swiveling around to see where it was coming from, but Edward didn't even flinch. He continued to look at her. 

The entire room, which was a little over halfway full, quieted immediately. A man dressed in khaki chinos that were rolled up at the ankle and a striped red and white shirt came bounding down the aisle. He was bald, middle-aged, and had an electric presence. 

“Good afternoon, philosophers,” he called. As he walked past each row, he dropped a stack of syllabi on each end table. They hit the wood with a thud. 

The room stayed incredibly silent. Slowly, the person on each end of the row began to pass the syllabi down.

The professor took a chair and sat on it backward, staring at them from the front of the row. “Are we ready to talk Plato? Socrates? I’d like to talk with you about some of the finer points of the discipline, but I just Kant be bothered today.” 

A few students haphazardly seated around the room laughed, and the professor beamed at each of them. 

But Becca slumped down in her seat and covered her face with her hands. 

It was going to be _that_ sort of class. An eclectic professor teaching an eclectic subject was _not_ what she needed. She should have never agreed to taking the class. She didn’t like asking deep questions like this; sitting around discussing this topic with Edward had already made her angry, and they’d only been at it for about fifteen minutes. 

“In any case, I am Professor Jackson, and I will be guiding you towards a journey of self-enlightenment.” He winked at one of the students in the front row. “Only a few of you will be lucky enough to accomplish such an important feat in such a short period of time—we only have eight weeks together.” 

Professor Jackson began talking so incredibly fast that Becca had trouble concentrating in her irritation. She took the syllabus that Edward handed her and glanced down at it. It was short—only half a page long—and looked much more like the syllabus that Mr. Masen had given her on her first day than any that she’d encountered in college. There were only five units, and the professor hadn’t even included his name or contact information at the top. 

**  
1) Explain the nature, method, and value of philosophy.  
2) Solutions to problems in metaphysics, such as the paradox of free and determinism, the existence of God, and the nature of mind and body.  
3) Important moral theories, such as ethical relativism, utilitarianism, Kantianism, and elitism.  
4) Various conceptions of the legitimate purpose of the state, such as anarchist, democratic, libertarian, and rights conceptions.  
5) Traditional theories of knowledge, such as the theories developed by Descartes, Locke, and Hume.  
**

“I’m going to hate this class,” Becca whispered in Edward’s ear, momentarily ignoring her irritation with him. “This is going to be even worse than spending day after day in high school.” 

“It’ll get better,” he encouraged, his eyes focused on the professor. 

She huffed, folded her arms, and began to pay attention to the man as he talked entirely too fast about the purpose of philosophy. She didn’t even try to jot down any notes—she figured, if needed, she would just have Edward recount the lecture for her later. 

“Do you think it costs money to drop a class here?” she muttered to him as the professor went off on another tangent. 

He sighed in frustration. “It’s only been two minutes, Becca. Give it a chance.” 

Professor Jackson had his back to them, writing across the board in sloppy blue handwriting. People had begun copying down whatever he was writing, but Becca had trouble finding the will to do so. She supposed it was her own fault—she had simply expected too much from a small-town community college in the middle of nowhere Washington. 

And he was writing in such tiny letters that she had to squint to even attempt to understand it. Professor Jackson coughed. “This class will not be easy—any of you looking for an easy A should enroll in a different class. We will confront our most basic identities in this class, our most primary potentials for existence. We will take about the very nature of existence, as well as our likelihood of proving those very natures.” 

Becca noticed that Edward didn’t have a notebook with him, nor had he even let down his desk. 

“These are all difficult topics,” Professor Jackson continued, pacing in front of the room. “And it won’t be easy on any of us. Not on any of you in particular. You will write and turn in a paper before each class on the prompt I give you after each lecture. These papers should be however long or short you feel that you need to properly convey your point. However, be aware that should you not explain your point properly, I will not grade your argument properly.” 

Becca's head had begun to ache, though she wasn’t sure if it was the heated discussion with Edward, Professor Jackson’s ridiculous talking speed, or a combination of both. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. 

She figured she might as well just have Edward teach her the subject. Surely, he would know exactly how to convey the point the professor wanted, and he also certainly seemed willing enough to lecture her on the topic while he was it. Actually, he seemed all _too_ willing to tell her just what he thought. 

“Now, as we haven’t had a chance to do the readings yet, I’m going to allow you time at the end of today’s lecture to start on your first essay.”

He turned back to the board and began to write, the marker squeaking as he wrote. When Professor Jackson had finished, he tapped the board twice with the marker. “You should turn your essay in at the start of class on Wednesday.” 

**WHY ARE WE HERE?**

Becca put her head down on the tiny desk in front of her. She had expected something more profound, or even a tad bit more thought-provoking. This seemed like the most basic question of all. Did it even matter why humans were anywhere? Wasn't the point just that they were? Why did considering it, when there was no solid answer, even matter? 

One thing was for sure though—Becca would never let Edward Cullen convince her to take a class she didn’t want to take ever again. 

She was in for a wild time. 

Becca sat straight up in her seat and leaned over so that she could whisper in Edward's ear. "If you take notes on this for me, I'll tell you everything on the way to Port Angeles later." 

Edward turned to look at her, his eyes lit with curiosity, weariness, and something else. 

"Deal," he said. 

He reached over and took her notebook. 

As Becca watched him transcribe everything that Professor Jackson said, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd just lost some sort of metaphorical bet. 

Only time would tell. 

And they had only about a half-hour, by the looks of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm SO sorry this is a day or two later than I'd planned. This past week was ridiculously rough for me. I'm feeling very burnt out from work and life (not from this story!!! we're still going strong, I promise). Does anyone else feel like this year is going by somewhat worse than last? Maybe I'm just being too melancholy. 😔
> 
> In any case, we get some REAL answers in the next chapter (which is already being written as I take a break to post this one and continue to avoid my real-life responsibilities, so it should be up soon-ish!). My favorite chapter of this entire story is the one after that 😁
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudosing, and your comments. I very much appreciate them. Stay safe everyone ❤️ Highkey wish we could all be transported to a [healthy] Twilight universe all together.


	20. The Meadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide; [brief] insinuated assault

“Are you very angry with me?” Edward asked her quietly. The radio was off, and the engine hummed in the background. Becca was leaning her face against the glass, watching the blurred trees that she could make out in the darkness. The glass was cool against her cheek.

It was just past six o’clock, and they were just a few minutes away from the college. 

“Not at all,” she frowned, glancing over at him. “Why would I be?” 

He met her eyes. “You haven’t spoken to me since the lecture.” 

“I have too,” she said. “You asked me if I was hungry and I said no.” 

Edward rolled his eyes. 

They had spoken of other trivial things—the poetry professor’s pink-colored hair, which Edward had found slightly off-putting. They’d been partners as they looked over a Langston Hughes poem. Becca had answered that she was alright all three times that Edward had asked in the small seminar room, and they’d talked briefly of the My Antonia book they were reading for Mr. Masen’s homework, which neither of them particularly enjoyed. 

“Do you mind if we don’t go to Port Angeles?” Edward asked. 

She shrugged. “Where else would we go?” 

Edward slowed the car and did a perfect U-turn in the two-laned road—an action that, had Becca been driving, surely would have ended with the car in one of the steep ditches on either side of the road. Headlights flashed against a pine tree, and then Edward accelerated in the opposite direction than the one they’d been heading. 

When she stared over at him, he smiled instead of looking over at her. “I know a place.” 

Becca made a face but reached forward and fiddled with the radio. She put on the French CD that Edward had been playing on the way earlier. The man’s soft voice filled the car. Pulling her legs up into the seat, she turned to stare back out of the window. It was so dark that she couldn’t recognize anything, and there were no lights, so she wasn’t sure where they were going. 

Not that she would have known in the daylight, either. 

She closed her eyes and listened to the song instead. 

“I think you’re upset with me,” Edward said, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “And I want you to know that it wasn’t my intention to make you so.” 

“I’m not upset with you.”

And she wasn’t—she was more unnerved with herself. She had only become more acclimated to this world, decided to be happy and live in it, when he’d begun pressing her to think of more things she didn’t want to. He was correct, of course; right about everything he questioned. But his being correct didn’t make accepting any of it any easier. 

Why couldn’t she just exist happily here in the Twilight universe? She was in the car with Edward Cullen, who, even though she wasn’t _really_ Bella Swan, still seemed to care for her just as much. Charlie was a good father. She had friends here. 2005 didn’t yet have a lot of what she considered to be the troubling complexities of the future.

“Your…reaction, then,” he said slowly. “It confuses me.” 

“What confuses you about it, exactly?” She opened her eyes, watching more of the dark scenery pass by. 

“You seemed upset with me. Seem,” he corrected. “You seem upset with me.” 

“How so?” 

“You were so jovial earlier. All day, actually. You act one way for hours on end, then in class, you said nothing more of the subject. You haven’t smiled since. You’ve given me no indication of how you feel or what you’re thinking, and you know, well, you know that I have a more difficult time figuring that out.”

She took a deep breath. “I think the conversation…triggered me if you will. That’s all. It isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” 

“Triggered.” 

“Do you know what that means? It’s really common to say that in my time, but I’m not sure when it became a part of speech.” 

Edward turned down a road that Becca hadn’t even seen the sign for. He took a while before speaking. 

“The first clinical usage was in 1918 to speak of men returning from the war. It wasn’t adapted into the discipline until decades after, though I would imagine from what you’re describing, it’s perhaps even more normalized.” 

Her eyes shot to him. 1918, she remembered, was the year that he had died. “I didn’t know that.” 

“And why should you?” he smiled. “What was it about our conversation that triggered you?” 

She took the time to organize her thoughts before she spoke, playing with her fingers 

“I think it brought me back to reality. I’ve been living on some sort of high. Perhaps I have been for a while longer than I thought. I ended up in this world, as you pointed out, though it wasn’t my intention. This morning someone broke into my room. I decided to finally be happy anyway, to lean into the positive feelings I have, and then you tell me I need to consider why I ended up here. Why can’t I just be happy without thinking about it? Why can’t I enjoy it?” She frowned. “You don’t have to answer that part. I already know it.” 

“Becca,” he frowned. This time he did look over at her. “ _Can_ you be happy without knowing the truth?” 

Becca sighed. He was right again. 

“I’m serious.” 

“I know you are.” She frowned out of the window. “Anyway, it’s complicated, you know? This whole experience. I’m living a double life. There’s so much to make sense of. Finding a therapist here was one of the first steps I wanted to take when I woke up here, but I know if I told anyone the truth, they’d send me straight to be evaluated.” 

“You can tell me,” he offered. “I can be your therapist.” 

She smiled. “That’s quite unethical.” 

“It’s 2005. There are likely several things that would be considered unethical in the future that are alright now.” 

“Do you have a degree in psychology, Edward?” 

His teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned. “I have degrees in a lot of subjects.” 

She snorted. “I guess I _did_ promise to tell you the truth.” 

“You did,” he said. He stopped the car and pulled off into a small enclosure. “We’re here.” 

Becca frowned. “Where?” 

“A place I like to go to think. We’ll have to do a bit of walking—I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Walking in the dark? In a forest? When I can’t see? Of course I don’t mind.” 

Edward laughed and opened the door, getting out of the car. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Becca’s frown deepened. She didn’t know how he could make such a joke so easily. There _were_ monsters in the forest. Supposedly, anyway. 

In less than enough time for her to blink, Edward was at her door and reaching for the handle, pulling it open so she could step out. She followed his lead, pulling her jacket around her shoulders tighter. 

“Is it too cold?” 

“No,” she answered, but pulled her jacket even tighter in response. “Why are we here? Wherever here is, anyway.” 

Edward began walking away from the car. As her eyes adjusted a bit more, she could make out the landscape. They were walking towards the forest; the trees were large and scary looking in the night. It wasn’t raining or even misting, and for the first time in a while, she could see how bright the moon was above them. A few stars had begun to speckle the sky. 

“This is a place I like to go when I need to be alone.” He didn’t look down at her as he spoke. “Hearing everyone’s thoughts often gets overwhelming and exhausting. I can’t escape them even at home. My family tries to be courteous, but I still hear them. And the minds of my kind don’t work quite the same way that the minds of yours do. We have several trains of thoughts going at once, so, I can hear when they try to cover up their thoughts, but I can often also hear the thoughts they are trying to cover up. It’s overwhelming. Think of it as being around constant chatter all of the time. It never stops.” 

Her footsteps crunched against the dirt. “That does sound exhausting.” 

“I’ve learned ways to cope. It’s not always effective, but when it gets to be too much, I like to go deep into the forest.” 

“And how far away can you hear someone’s thoughts?”

Edward reached and moved a branch out of her path, and she smiled at him in gratitude. “A few miles, give or take. The more familiar someone’s mind is, the easier I can hear them from a distance. Their voice is more familiar, and it’s easier to pick out.” 

“I bet that has its drawbacks too, though. I bet you hear a lot of uncomfortable thoughts from your family.” 

“You have no idea,” he muttered. “High school can be like purgatory in a way, and that in itself is exhausting, but sometimes it’s easier to listen to the thoughts of your peers and tune them out. They think of such simple things that I would liken it akin to sleeping.” 

He moved another branch for her. She wondered where they were going, and why specifically, Edward thought that going there in the dark was a good thing. Perhaps for him going there in the dark was no different for him than in the daytime. If the darkness proved no problem for his senses, then it likely didn’t matter. And he didn’t sleep, anyway. If it weren’t for the human constraints that they gave themselves, his family wouldn’t even have to deal with the changes in the day. 

“Are we going to the meadow?” she asked him, her voice low and softer than before. 

He side-eyed her and sighed. “So, you know about that too, then, I suppose.” 

Her heart thumped unevenly. There was a lot that happened in that meadow chapter. “It’s an important setting in the books.” 

Edward frowned. “I imagine it is.” 

They continued to walk through the forest, nothing between them but that insects in the distance and Becca’s footsteps—Edward didn’t make a sound. 

“Tell me more about how I'm different from the character I represent,” he asked, staring straight ahead.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve read it as I've already told you. But there are a lot of differences.” 

“Such as?” 

“Well, there are the obvious ones, like we’ve talked about. You said you couldn’t imagine being able to suck venom from someone’s hand. But I’d say your character is also a bit too obsessed with Bella Swan’s sometimes. To the point of being stuffy. But that's the point, I guess," she frowned. "That’s part of your character arc in the third book, actually. Like, in the book, you sneak into her room before even becoming friends with her to watch her sleep. Bella Swan talks in her sleep, so you find that interesting because you can’t read her mind. I always thought that part was a little bit creepy, though the notion is kind of romantic.” 

Edward frowned. “Is it?” 

“I suppose it depends how you think about it, right? You want to protect her, so it makes sense. And Twilight is mythological. It’s not meant to be adapted to the human world. At least that’s what I think. There are stranger things in the series that happen than what I’ve told you.” She frowned. “How far do we have left to walk?” 

“About another mile or so. I drove us as closest as I could without going into the forest.” 

She made a face, doing the math in her head. They weren’t walking fast, so a mile would take them another twenty minutes. It wasn’t the walking that bothered her. She knew that she was safe with him. It was the darkness that did—she couldn’t see farther than a foot or two in front of her. 

Of course, there was the way back to consider, too. 

“Can’t you just run us there?” 

He sighed. “I suppose you know about that too, then?” 

“Another activity that you and Bella do is you running. You like to run.” 

“I do. I’m more surprised that the version of myself in the books would share that with a human.” 

“There’s actually a lot that you share,” she muttered. “You’d probably be horrified.” 

“You’ve already insinuated as much,” he frowned. “Perhaps, once you tell me all of your problems, I’ll reward you with a run.” 

She smiled to herself, but her heart raced in response. Reaching down, she fumbled for his hand. Edward noticed and knit their fingers together. The chilliness of the air was exacerbated by the touch of his hand, but she didn’t let it bother her. They continued walking through the forest, Edward moving branches out of the way that she would have never seen, her continuing to force herself forward in response.

* * *

For Becca, when they first stepped into the meadow, there was no indication that it was any different than the forest they’d been walking through. She could sense that the space was wide, but she only noticed how _much_ space there was when Edward prompted her to look up. The gentle light from the moon spread all across the grass. The grass, which she supposed would have been very beautiful in the daylight, reached to her calf. 

Edward walked ahead of her. The more that her eyes adjusted, the more she could pick out smaller flowers that surrounded them. There was no way of knowing where they were. If she squinted, she thought she could pick out the mountain tops in the far distance, but it was possible she imagined it, too. 

Sitting down in the grass a few feet from her, Edward looked back at her. “Come,” he encouraged, patting the ground beside him. 

She made a face but trudged forward. Only when she reached him did she force herself to sit down beside him. The grass was surprisingly dry, and she wondered why, thinking of the mist earlier. Thinking of what else she couldn’t see in the darkness, she shivered. 

Edward’s face was inquisitive. “What is it?” 

“I’ve never sat in the wilderness like this,” she admitted. 

He frowned. “Didn’t you say that you went hiking with your father?” 

“Well, yes, but I always wear copious amounts of insect repellant, and we never stray from the trails.” 

“Are you worried about the bears?” 

Becca frowned. “Well, I wasn’t before, but maybe I should be.” 

“I’d save you before a bear had the chance to even look at you,” Edward promised. 

She shivered again. It was colder now that they weren’t moving, but that wasn’t why—Edward’s tone was so secure that it made her think of something else that she was more worried about. 

“Are there ticks here?” 

“Ticks?” 

Becca had a vivid memory of being young, out with her cousins, when she was maybe six or seven, and crawling through wild grass. Her dress, socks, and hair were covered in ticks. Her mother had been horrified; Becca could still remember her screen. 

“I really don’t like them.” 

Edward was making a conscious effort not to laugh. “They won’t bother you, either. My presence keeps insects away. I can sense them.” 

“You can sense ticks,” she said flatly. 

“Yes. Everything has a unique smell, a flavor, if you will. I would be able to tell if there was one near you. Not to mention the blood.” 

“Right,” she said, mostly to assure herself. She took a deep breath. “You’ll know.” 

“I’ll know if there are ticks,” Edward promised. “But I don’t think there will be. The temperature is only a bit above their dormancy level.” 

Becca nodded, then leaned back on the grass. The ground was cold against her neck, but the grass caressed her skin, and she closed her eyes and wondered if there was a better feeling than this one. Being beside Edward Cullen, listening to him breathing. The smell of the forest beyond them. She could go to sleep right here if she tried hard enough. 

“I want you to tell me about everything. When you’re ready,” Edward said quietly. 

She drug her hand across the grass as if she was treading water. 

“I’m ready,” she said, opening her eyes and gazing up at the stars. 

She had no idea what time it was, but from the time that they had begun walking through the forest to now, the sky had accumulated even more stars. Why had she never done this before? Why hadn’t she ever gone to a meadow in the dark and star gazed? She felt the peculiarity of her situation stronger than ever. But even further, she was at peace. 

For the first time in a while, she felt that she was so entirely small that nothing mattered. Not in a negative way, but a way that told her the Earth was spinning around on an imaginary axis influenced by gravity, hurtling through space at speeds she couldn’t calculate even if she wanted to. She was so completely insignificant. Infinity, by definition, reached on forever. 

But she would not. 

And she was okay with that. 

“I’ve told you a bit about my childhood. It wasn’t bad. Nothing majorly traumatic,” she began. She turned to glance at him, only to see that he had stretched out beside her and was looking up at the stars. His side profile, like the rest of him, was stitched in perfection. Nothing out of place. “My stepdad isn’t my real dad. I’ve never gotten along well with my mother. My siblings are both a good bit younger than me, but Bennet is so much younger than me that he doesn’t even feel like a sibling.” 

“Have you met your real father?” Edward asked quietly. He didn’t look away from the stars, assuming, perhaps correctly, that she didn’t want any sort of audience for conveying her deepest thoughts. 

“I have a few times. He used to buy me presents a lot when I was younger. I’d see him every Christmas. He would sometimes remember to call on my birthday, but he eventually forgot. I would only really contact him when I needed something. If I ever wanted twenty dollars, he’d send me forty to make up for it. That sort of thing.” 

“That’s horrible,” he answered. 

She shrugged. “It was pretty great at the time. I used to like it, to be honest. It was nice to get extra money without asking for it, and I suppose it made my dad feel better, too. It made him feel like he was doing something right. My mom hated it, though.” 

Becca placed her hands on her stomach and took a deep breath. The thought came to her then, and she figured she might as well voice it. 

“When you said something earlier, about why I was here in the now, it made me question it a bit further. Bella Swan is seventeen at the beginning of Twilight, so it makes sense that I would be that age too, but it also made me think about what happened when I was seventeen in my own life. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it might make some sense, I guess.” 

He turned to face her, his eyes alight in the darkness. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“I do want to tell you,” she said, sighing. “I just haven’t told anyone this before.” 

He looked worried. “You haven’t?” 

She sighed. “I’m making it into a much bigger deal than it is. It’s just that my family, well, we don’t really talk about these sorts of things.” 

Edward’s eyebrows drew together. 

Becca frowned. “Look, when I was seventeen, my real dad died. I barely knew him. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but my mom made me go to the funeral, which was like, the first funeral I’d ever been to. I remember he had an open casket, and I was staring down at this dude who I’ve only met a handful of times, who didn’t look anything like I’d imagined him to. And I didn’t really feel a thing. I don’t think I’ve ever really grieved him or felt any type of way about it. He wasn’t part of my life.” 

“What did he look like?” 

“He was short. His forehead was really big, and, in the casket, he was clean-shaven, which looked weird. He had curly brown hair.” She shrugged. “I always thought he was kind of ugly, to tell you the truth.” 

She closed her eyes again, enjoying the soft feel of the grass beneath her. Edward had shifted closer to her; their arms were almost touching. 

“My mom dropped me off there, which was awful. A lot of the people there recognized me because I looked like him. I met a lot of family I had but didn’t know that I did. I have a younger brother, for example, who I’d never even heard of. And he certainly had never heard of me. But I guess it was that moment that planted this seed of not mattering in my life.” 

More stars had appeared in the sky. She tried to remember constellations that she knew, but the only one she could pick out was the Big Dipper. 

“It’s a corny way of saying it, I guess, and I definitely don’t have it near as bad as most people do, but my father had this entire other life going on that I knew nothing about. My younger brother, his name is Noah, is in the best private school in the area, already plays club sports, and is bilingual. He takes piano lessons. He’s an only child with a great personality. And it made me think about how people choose not to be ordinary, you know?” 

“I’m not sure I’m following you.” 

“I’m sorry, but,” She frowned, sighing. “And this is going to sound like a line.” 

He smiled, but she didn’t see. “What is?” 

“I’m going to have total ‘pick me’ energy, for a moment,” she muttered. She sighed again, then fidgeted with her zipper, zipping her jacket up and down “I am very average. There isn’t anything remarkable about me. Which is fine. I don’t necessarily want there to be anything incredible about me. But I couldn’t help thinking, at my dad’s funeral, that if I were more like Noah, he would have wanted more to do with me than just sending me forty dollars twice a year. That if I were less ordinary, he would have spent more than eighty dollars on me.” 

“That’s plausible.” Edward reached for her hand, stilling the zipper. “But I think it’s more so that you need to reframe your thinking.” 

“What about it?” 

“Even if you are ordinary, Becca, even if your younger brother can do all of these incredible things at a young age that you didn’t do, why should it even matter to your father that you are ordinary? You are his genetic offspring—you should be prioritized just for that.” 

Becca placed her hand over his. “Yeah. I mean, you’re right, of course, but I’m sure you can understand why that might be difficult to realize.” 

“Of course.” He drew circles on the back of her hand with his pointer finger. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. My condolences to your late father, but more so I am sorry that your mother left you alone to deal with it. She sounds like a piece of work.” 

Becca shrugged. “It’s okay. She probably couldn’t have handled it very well, in her defense. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but she’s only human after all.” 

He snorted and she looked over at him quizzically. “And you aren’t? Seventeen-year-old you wasn’t human?”

“I mean, even parents have their limits, right?” 

“Certainly. But if they have their limits, then they shouldn’t force their children to do these things alone.” 

Becca nodded. She was seconds away from convincing herself to nestle closer to Edward, even though she would be undeniably colder. He had been right from the beginning. It did feel better talking about it. 

She clutched his hand tighter. 

“Why did your mother and father separate?” 

Becca smiled. “They were never together, actually, and that’s a very long story.” 

“We have time,” he assured her. 

“Do we?” 

He let go of her long enough to check the silver wristwatch he wore. “Charlie would probably like for you to be home in the next two hours—did you tell him you were going to Port Angeles after the class got out?” 

Becca nodded. When Edward didn’t reach for hand her again, she decided to be bold and roll over towards him. She leaned her head on his chest. He froze—or maybe it was just that he was naturally so still—then his hand moved to stroke through her hair. 

“Do you get tired of moving ever?” Becca asked. “I feel like if I didn’t have to move, it would be nice to stay still forever.” 

“Would you?” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “And to answer your question, no—we don’t get fatigued. It makes no difference to me whether I'm moving or at rest.” 

“That sounds scientifically impossible.” 

Edward laughed so loudly his chest vibrated and her head bounced. She tilted her face forward to see him smiling down at her. 

They smiled at each other for a few moments, then Becca laid her head back down, and Edward continued to draw his hand through her hair. 

“Tell me what happened after your dad died,” he prompted. 

Becca sighed. “Nothing happened. I never saw my younger brother again. My mom acted as if everything was normal, and after a while, it was. It was my senior year of college. I was applying and getting all of that straight. There wasn’t time for much else. Of course, if I had been _my child_ , I would have demanded that I at least talk to a mental health professional, but that’s just me. I can’t fault my mom for not believing in it.” 

“So, you’ve said,” Edward frowned. “You mentioned before she isn’t proud of your career choice.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. “That’s an understatement. My mom doesn’t believe social work is a good choice. She thinks that most of the time they don’t help the kids who need it the most and that the kids they end up working with are usually ones who don’t need help at all. When I lost my job, all hell broke loose for a variety of reasons. Mostly because her main rule growing up was that I couldn’t become a teacher—none of us could. But she doesn’t view social work as much better.” 

It was quiet between them again. Edward was drawing patterns up and down her arm. She felt so close to him in that moment that she decided she could tell him anything. 

“I lost my job,” she began, and her voice cracked. “And it was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Which might sound awful, considering that I just told you about that funeral I went to, but losing my job felt like everything had been sucked straight out of me.” 

There was more pressure around her arm, and it took her a moment to realize that Edward was hugging her even tighter to his chest. 

“Getting in my car that day and driving home,” she shook her head. “The job was the most challenging thing I have ever done, being a social worker, but somedays, helping those kids is what gave me the will to get out of bed in the morning. And now, I still feel so _freaking_ guilty thinking about all of those kids who have abandonment issues and how I might have contributed to that further.” 

She laughed just thinking about it. 

“It’s ridiculous. I cried more that day than any other day in my entire life. I had nightmares for weeks. I bought myself three hoagies that day, knowing good and well that not only was I not going to eat them, but that I also wasn’t going to be able to continue paying my rent, and then I just drove home and sat on the floor and stared at the ceiling for hours. I couldn’t watch the news or check any of my social media because it was _everywhere_.” 

Becca took a deep breath and turned her face into his shirt, feeling the soft fabric beneath her cheek. Edward moved his hand down her back, tracing her spine. 

“Why did you lose your job?” 

She cringed against him, just thinking about it. There was a familiar lump in her throat that appeared whenever she thought about Delilah. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Edward hurried to say. “If you’re not ready.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she said. Her eyes were prickling already. “It’s just going to make you think differently of me, that’s all.” 

“I can’t imagine that.” 

But Becca certainly could. 

She was quiet for a long while, trying to organize how to tell the story in her mind before telling it all to him. She wanted to tell it as honestly as she could, but she wasn’t sure how confidential she needed to be. 

“Most people in social work end up getting their master’s eventually, but I hadn’t decided to do that yet. I was a family social worker, so all of my clients were children in one way or another. We get calls from schools usually about families that need an investigation. Sometimes it isn’t bad—sometimes it’s just a misunderstanding. A kid will wear the same t-shirt a few days in a row which is a tell-tell sign of neglect, and a teacher will call to report, as they should, and we’ll find out that the kid just really likes the shirt. Those are the good days.” 

She reached up and grabbed his hand to keep him from running his hand down her arm again. She intertwined their fingers together, then took another deep breath to calm herself. 

“There are also the awful cases, like the ones I’ve hinted at before. Those are the ones that are the most exhausting. The ones that make you wonder how such awful things in the world can exist. It’s not always the parent’s fault, either. A lot of them really do try their best. But anyway, I had this one kid, who was fifteen. They were one of my favorite clients to spend time with—we’re not supposed to say that we have favorites, but we do have them.” 

Edward’s entire body was tense now, though she could tell he wasn’t trying to show it. 

“This kid was hilarious. Spunky. Happy. Really freaking smart. One of those kids who are too pure for the world, who really have a lot going for them, if they could only escape the situation that they’re in. And there are a lot of kids like that.” 

She took a deep breath, then twisted to look up at him. “You know, we’re getting deep into my psyche here, Edward. This is part of the reason that I, um, chose to unalive myself.”

It was another long moment before he said anything. 

“ _Unalived_ is an interesting way to put it,” Edward commented. Then he squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

“I want to,” she assured him. “It’s just a lot.” 

She took another deep breath. “I had this client—a kid that was a foster; both of their parents were dead. They bounced around from house to house until finally, an aunt, who lived a half-hour away decided to take them in. It didn’t seem awful, though I was skeptical of sending a fifteen-year-old to live with an aunt they had never spent much time with. But they did fine—I supervised the case for about six months before things went haywire.” 

Becca leaned up and put her head on his shoulder, changing positions so that she didn’t have to talk quite so loudly, though she knew that Edward could hear her no matter where she was. He didn’t seem to mind either, from the way he wrapped his arm around her and held her just as close. 

“It was my fault, honestly.” She shook her head. Her breathing was coming more quickly now, and her heart was racing. “I never noticed the signs that the kid was giving me. The older kids have always been more difficult for me. I was twenty-two when I first started working, and sometimes I’d get clients as old as my sister’s age. And teenagers are different from small children—they show things differently. Their anxiety is much different from a young child’s, for instance. But this kid—well, looking back, there were a lot of signs I should have caught that something was wrong. A lot of subtle jokes I missed, a lot of comments that they made that I really should have picked up on.” 

Becca swallowed. “The kid’s aunt had a boyfriend, and I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate on that part…but not picking up on it alone could have been enough to get me fired. But there were nights that apparently the aunt’s boyfriend snuck into the kid’s room…” Becca trailed off, trying to control her breathing. “Then one morning, they found the kid dead.” 

Edward was silent; he wasn’t even breathing. 

She waited for him to speak. 

“And you—” he swallowed. He struggled to make his tone even. “You were blamed for this, somehow?” 

“Yes. In my line of work, keeping notes is very important. Especially for assessing high-risk behaviors. It’s a backlog of every situation with the client. I had records that, in the aftermath, could have potentially alleged to some sort of abuse. It could have been a lot worse had I fought it. But why would I, when it _was_ my fault? I packed up all of my things, and then left.” 

Edward pulled them both up into a sitting position. Becca pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I’m not sure I’m following you. The situation is awful, and I understand that, but why was it your fault?”

She blinked. “It’s my fault…because one of my clients is dead, and I was the caseworker. You can be fired for much less, you know.” 

“But didn’t the uncle do it? How could you have known that would happen?” he shook his head. “I’m not condoning any of this, Becca, and please don’t think that I am. This is a devastating, awful thing, but I just don’t know how you could have predicted it. What signs were you missing?” 

“The uncle didn’t do it. The child committed suicide,” Becca frowned. “The kid had made jokes about death before and wrote about it in some of their weekly journals.” 

He frowned. “And you didn’t question the jokes?” 

“Of course I did. But the jokes seemed to be for humor. Their parents were both dead. Every time we talked about it, they would make it clear that they were nothing more than jokes. And humor is sometimes a coping mechanism, especially in teenagers. I sent her to a counselor the first time, but that was it.” 

“But then why would you be fired for it? If you followed up on it with them? Even if it eventually led to such a tragic end, I just don’t understand why it’s your fault. Or rather, I suppose, why you were blamed for it. The child needed more help than you could give them.” He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his, too. “I suppose I’m having more trouble with understanding this because most healthcare workers lose at least one patient, usually more than one, to suicide at some point in their career. It’s a hefty statistic.”

“It’s my _fault_ ,” Becca said slowly. “Because I didn’t flag the case. I guess. We have a lot of protocols to follow and I made a very wrong judgment call, and now a child’s life is gone.” 

“Did you lose your license?” 

“No. I got fired because it was better for my clinic, and myself, as my supervisor said," she rolled her eyes. "If I was separated from it as soon as possible.” She looked down at her hands. Her stomach was in knots and she felt awful. She rubbed her eyes. “But it really is my fault, Edward. I’m not trying to be a martyr—it really is. You can’t imagine how guilty I feel. It’s not because I lost my job. The aunt didn’t even file a malpractice claim; it’s more so that she _could_ have and while it’s unlikely that she would have won, she still could have filed a case. _I_ feel guilty.” 

Edward rubbed his forehead with his hand. “On exactly what grounds could the aunt have filed a malpractice claim?” 

“Breach of duty, I guess. Negligence. The child showed signs of ideation, and I didn’t flag it further.” 

“But you talked about them with the child as they came up,” he frowned. “You didn’t ignore the claims. You did everything you were supposed to. I’m sorry, Becca, but I am still having trouble understanding exactly why this is your fault. I can see why it feels like it is, but how can you be certain that it’s not the opposite?” 

She looked up at him, at the moonlight that shone across his face; his skin was just as pale. He was looking at her, too. His face was raw and earnest. He genuinely cared about her well-being. She ran her hand over the soft grass again, pulling out blades as she did. 

“All I’m saying is that,” Edward began quietly, so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear him. “We have to be cognizant of the fact that we all make choices. And, at the end of the day, we are all responsible for only _our_ choices. You had a duty and a responsibility to your clients, and you kept that. I am sorry that it came to the point that it did. Sorrier than you can even imagine.” 

Becca sighed. “That might be true, Edward, but this was a minor. A fifteen-year-old child. I joke all of the time about the frontal lobe, but maybe, at least now, you can see why? As adults, in my line of work at least, we have an obligation to help our clients. To pick up on these things. And I failed terribly.” 

“I just don’t think it was your fault.” 

Becca raised her eyebrows. “But would you even tell me if you did?” 

His lips twitched. “Probably not.” 

She sighed. She knew that his words were just that—words. She would never not feel guilty. She would never for a second feel like she couldn’t have done more. 

In a half-second, Edward was sitting beside her again, stilling her hands from picking blades of grass. Becca’s hands were so numb from the cold that she could barely tell a difference. “Here’s what I think. I think you know that this wasn’t your fault. I think you are grieving the loss of your client and that’s a very different thing.” 

She leaned against his shoulder. 

“Why don’t you tell me about them? The client.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “If you want to, that is.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” she mumbled. “It’s against confidentiality.” 

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I think it’s perfectly alright.” 

Did being ethical matter, if she wasn’t even Becca Fitzgerald? 

Becca took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“Her name was Delilah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) Sorry for the lapse in weekly updates. Life has been really difficult lately. I won't bore you with more than that, but this next chapter after this one is my favorite of all. I will try to have it out during this next week! 😊
> 
> Also--a disclaimer: I am NOT a social worker. But I ran this situation by one of my close friends who is one just to make sure it is plausible, and she agrees. Also, remember that this is a third-person limited POV (if that matters to you), so there's a lot that we might not know just yet since we only get it through Becca's words/thoughts.
> 
> As always, stay safe ❤️ Thanks for reading! I wish we could all be transported to a Twilight universe and just hang out for sure 👯


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